


(Be)longings

by TemariDesertStorm



Category: Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Feels, Fluff, Mutual Pining, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Unresolved Romantic Tension, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-12
Updated: 2017-05-25
Packaged: 2018-10-03 13:13:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 36
Words: 55,735
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10246817
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TemariDesertStorm/pseuds/TemariDesertStorm
Summary: Drabbles of warrior Marian Hawke and her brooding elf love Fenris





	1. Meeting (Hers)

**Author's Note:**

> I love this and I need to work these two out of my system or I'm gonna kill myself over these two loveable dorks

Another year, another job. Hawke was getting used to the cycle of her life in Kirkwall, just as she had in Lothering and all the towns before that. Life was the same; avoiding templars, looking after her family, doing whatever was needed to keep everyone fed and healthy. Varric had just become a part of her circle, just as Aveline had a year prior. There would be more, she figured grumpily; more people to let into her heart, more people to agonize over when she lost them. It only made it more agonizing when she thought of her father, of Carver...

There was a time for moping, she admonished herself, letting another swing of her sword cut through armor and flesh, blood splattering across her face. In the middle of breaking through an ambush was  _not_ one of them.

The empty warehouse wasn't the first suspicious thing they had run into. Anzo had been jittery, their information vague and unreliable at best, and then their ambushers mentioning someone else before attacking them all added up to them being lured into a trap set for someone else. Of all the luck... It didn't matter. As long as she kept an eye on Beth and made sure to keep her hands on her blade, they were fine. She knew Varric could handle himself as long as she took point.

When the last man had fallen and their leader had stepped out, ready to call down his reinforcements, something in the air... shifted. Not being a mage herself, Hawke couldn't tell if it was magic or not, but growing up around mages taught her enough to recognize lyrium when she felt it. She watched the man stumble in around the corner, blood nearly cascading through the gaps in his armor before he fell. For a second, she was unsure what was going on, and then her breath hitched in her throat.

He was _beautiful_.

Elves weren't a common sight for Hawke, but she had seen enough of them in her travels not be surprised to see one. This one was just... an exceptional case. The first thing that struck her was his shock of white hair. In the night, it looked as though his hair was made of moonlight, long and shimmering strands falling across his face like silken threads. His deeply tan skin was marked by long white tattoos in intricate patterns, tracing along his visible skin like veins, almost artistically drawn down his arms and up along his neck. His lean body, his arms taut with compact muscles, were lightly armored, the leather matching the color of his skin, metal glinting in the light. Of his features, however, what most caught her attention was his eyes: somewhere between green and hazel and absolutely dashing, wide in his narrowed, serious expression. When he spoke, his voice was deep and rich with a slight accent, honey dripping over something dark and delicious and far too good to be good _for_ you.

Hawke didn't realize she was staring until Bethany nudged her with her elbow, a silent reminder to pick her jaw up off the floor. She could almost hear the smile on Varric's face without having to turn around. The exchange the elf was having with the man could have been in another language for all she cared.

She barely caught the word ‘slave’ through her enraptured haze before suddenly the elf glowed, his white markings turning blue with lyrium as he punched his hand _into_ the man, reaching through him like piece of cheap cloth, leaving the man to gasp and gurgle as he died an outwardly bloodless death. Hawke let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding when he finally turned his attention to her, finally just becoming aware of the greatsword across his back, realizing with a jolt that the elf might possibly be her better in combat.

How she managed to converse with him was nothing short of the Maker’s blessing, and when he - Fenris - asked her to lend him her services, it took all of her willpower not to trip over her own tongue in reply. As he left them with the location of their next meeting place, she knew that he face was turning red. Bethany was stifling her laughter poorly; at least Carver would have made a cheeky comment she could retort to, if he was alive. Somehow, she figured, this was nothing going to be something easily forgotten.


	2. Flirting (His)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fenris and his big stupid mouth don't know when to stop talking...

Fenris’ first impression of Hawke had been that she was a reliable fighter and time had proven him right. Like him, she wielded a greatsword, a weapon that was rarely a woman’s weapon of choice, but she wielded it with accuracy and strength belying her form. Over the course of three years, she hand his back on the battlefield, taking out slavers, darkspawn, what-have-you... She was a worthy ally in his eyes, which was not something he had ever had the luxury of having before, even though she consorted with mages. The abomination - Anders - was around almost as frequently as she was, following her at every turn, trying to push his political agenda down her throat... It made Fenris sick. Mages... Hawke’s sister was a mage as well and he knew how much affection the two had for each other. He had said a few silent words of relief when she was taken off to the Circle, but he wouldn’t dare speak them aloud. As much as he hated mages, he wasn’t about to argue with Hawke over them. Not when he had finally found a worthy ally.

Three years... Three years since they had first met in the streets of Lowtown. She was sarcastic and sassy when she needed to be, diplomatic when the situation called for it, and more than willing to cleave the limbs off anyone doing wrong by her. It was the longest he had ever found himself in anyone's company that wasn't under Danarius' thumb, and he had that to be thankful for. On occasion, he found her throwing a compliment his way, her face all smiles, and he found himself tossing and turning through the night, contemplating each one as it was delivered. Not only did she treat him with kindness; she managed to even make him laugh, something he had thought he had forgotten with all his other memories.

Another thing he had never contended with: flirting. For as many conversations as they had, for every compliment that she gave, there was some exchanging of veiled interest in the other. Both were certainly amateurs, but their mutual acquaintance with Isabela and her constant hunt for her next lay seemed to have improved the quality of their flattery exponentially. It was... nice. No outward threats, no barked orders, no promises of pain... It was more than anything he had ever known from his life as a slave, but still his heart burned with anger and still he raged with the desire for revenge. Hawke was a pleasant distraction and a friend, but she was just that - a distraction. His true goal still eluded him.

Thankfully, Isabela was willing to help him with another one of his distractions: people trying to interfere with his living quarters.

"Why you want to squat up here in Hightown is beyond me," she commented, throwing him a look of mock disappointment that she didn't get to tell her story.

Fenris threw a smirk her way. "I like the view." Whether he was speaking the truth or throwing out an excuse, even he wasn't sure, but Isabela took it.

"So do I." The pirate gave him one of her signature roguish smiles as she stood up to leave, passing by Hawke in the doorway. The women exchanged glances, though he couldn't see Isabela's face, and then he was alone with her.

"Three years," he mused, as Hawke sat down in a chair near him. He was used to her sparse comments, relishing a little in the fact that she let him talk. She was a woman who could easily grasp a situation and she had seemed to learn early on that she didn't need his permission to keep him company. "Still no sign of Danarius. I'm beginning to wonder if he's finally given up..."

"Disappointed?" she asked, the corner of her lips turning up in a smirk. She had folded her hands across her lap, leaning back in the chair, and he eyed her, dressed as she usually was in her armor. He had rarely seen her wearing anything other than plate mail, but her figure was slim (for a human) and her figure well developed. Sometimes he wondered, with her new wealth and estate, why she didn't find herself some friends with more standing. Escaped slaves, apostate Grey Wardens, pirates... Not the first choice he would have figured for a woman who could afford to live in Hightown, but he was grateful for that.

He let out a small sigh. "Tell me, what do you do when you stop running?" She had been running all her life; he knew, she had mentioned it before. Her father an apostate mage, she was born into a family on the run. He had never stopped running, not for so long, and he wanted to know just how she had kept herself together for so long.

"When you stop..." she bit her lip, obviously putting a lot of thought into her answer. "You settle down. You make a life."

"My first memories are receiving these markings, the lyrium branded into my flesh." He looked down at his hand, remembering for a second the searing agony of it, screaming, crying, convulsing in pain that seemed unimaginably real. "The agony wiped away everything. Whatever life I'd had before I became a slave... was lost." Nothing from before the pain and only pain had followed, though nothing quite as agonizing, only more humiliating.

He shook his head, rising to his feet. Mentioning it brought back dreadful memories. "I shouldn't trouble you with this. My problems are not yours." They weren't, but she would never agree to that statement. He knew just as well as she that she wasn't one to turn away from the problems of others, let alone the ones closest to her. She knew when not to pry, but solving the problems of others had become her business.

She smiled back wryly at him. "I might be able to help with your problems... or give you a few more." So the flirting had begun. He knew she genuinely meant to help him, but the implication she was making... He chuckled, unable to stop the corners of his lips from turning up in a smile.

"Only a few?"

"...Or a lot," she replied, her voice conceding a little. _Problem_ seemed like it should be her middle name.

"Tempting. You're a beautiful woman, Hawke." The words had left his mouth, more in the spirit of their flirtatious rapport than anything, before he realized exactly what it was he had just said.

Fenris. Foot. Mouth.

He had just called her beautiful to her face. Not that he didn't agree with the statement: she was certainly beautiful, that no one would deny. Short cropped midnight black hair framing emerald green eyes like some sort of exotic wild feline, always on the hunt. Beneath the streak of red face paint across the bridge of her nose, there was a light dusting of freckles that only made themselves apparent in the right lighting. Her skin was a pale color, despite the time she spent outdoors, and her frame was petite but well-built, strong enough to easily wield such a large weapon but not bulky enough to disguise her figure. Her figure was something of its own; generous in all the places it needed to be, around her hips and her bust, but not so excessive as someone like Isabela - nor did she flaunt it the way the rogue did.

To be frank, he _did_ think she was beautiful. Strikingly beautiful. Had he been any other man, in any other situation, he would have jumped at the chance to be near her, to flirt with her so openly and casually as she did with him. But he was no other man: an escaped slave, his life a cruel experiment brought about by the whims of a man who took pleasure in seeing him suffer. He could not be with her the way he wished he could - like other men could. With the way his lyrium marking ached, it would been nearly impossible to even hold her hand. Oh, but how he had dreamed... |More than once he had awoken thinking of her, her name on his lips and an aching in his chest. Merril (for all that he trusted her, with her blood magic) had even mentioned in passing that Hawke had affections for him, only making his feelings for her feel like a cruel affliction.

No, it could never be. Their worlds were too far apart, and he hated himself the instant he had let those words slip. "is there no one else who has your... attention?" Even awaiting her answer tore him: if she did have others, then she was likely better off turning her attentions to them, but secretly - desperately - a piece of his heart cried out to hold her.

Her reply was delivered plainly, the flirtation in her voice gone. "Do you see anyone else here?"

His heart skipped a beat as it sank in his chest. He wanted - dared - to cling to a scrap of hope, no matter how much it felt like trying to reach to the unreachable stars, but it was both a blessing and a curse to him. "I'm an escaped slave and an elf, living in a borrowed mansion. None of those things bother you?" They should. They should bother her a lot, but staring into her eyes for an answer only made his halfhearted excuses feel all the more hollow.

"And I'm a refugee, as well as a human. Does that bother you?" She curl of her lips told him she had known how empty his excuses were. It was no secret to him that she had won that leg of their discussion.

"You have me there." She did. He knew. "You raise an interesting point. I'll have to... consider it." He hesitated, knowing that he shouldn't consider it in the slightest. He would; though, and she knew he would. As was her usual way, she nodded and stood up, walking out to give him time to think. Left alone with his thoughts, Fenris muttered a few choice curses in Tevene. He didn't think he would get much sleep.


	3. Blushing (Hers)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Half-naked men are always nice, especially when you're in love with them.

Hawke always felt like a wreck after long fights, especially when she got covered in blood. It was inevitable, being a warrior with a greatsword, but it didn't mean she had to enjoy traipsing around the wilds with it splattered across her face. Varric (a usual staple in her party unless he was busy) had the luck of Bianca, Isabela was quick enough to avoid most spatter and didn't seem to mind it (said something about making her more appealing or some such nonsense), Anders and Merril were mages, Aveline had her shield, and Fenris didn't seem to care either way. Hawke, having been raised by her noble-born mother, had some consideration for being clean, so when she called their group to a stop on their way back to Kirkwall for a break, she heard Varric mutter something about 'gore-splattered heroines' before he stomped off somewhere. Anders, being his usual concerned self, began pelting her with questions about her health and asking if she needed healing. Fenris snorted and wandered off, supposedly to leave them to their business.

It took Hawke a few minutes to explain to Anders about cleaning herself up, citing hygienic reasons before slipping off through the trees. The reason she had called a stop at that particular moment had been simple: she's caught the sound of running water. From what she'd discovered of the layout of the area, a river ran nearby, giving her an opportunity to get clean. It was a bright day, the sun breaking through the foliage in little streams of golden light, motes dancing down from the canopy. The area reminded her a bit of Lothering, of her days with Carver and Bethany, her mother and father watching them happily. Her fond memories only brought a pang of guilt her way. Her father was dead, Carver was dead, Bethany was in the Circle, her mother blamed her for the latter two, and now... Hawke was starting to feel like it  _was_ her fault. Not that anyone of her companions blamed her for anything bad happening to them; they got into enough trouble of their own without her help, as they had before they met.

Still, the burden sat on her shoulders like a massive stone, each task she took on a peddle thrown at her resolve. Sooner or later, she knew something was going to give and she would break, with no one to pick up the pieces. Varric planned to write her the invincible hero. It was a lie she'd never be able to live up to.

Shaking the dower thoughts from her mind, the sound of the river roaring in her ears, Hawke emerged from the trees and immediately stopped dead in her tracks. The sight before her was breathtaking... and she wasn't looking at the scenery.

Her discovery of the river had not gone over unawares by the others, or at least, not by her fellow warrior. Fenris, his armor laid out in the grass, his tunic tossed atop them, was kneeled before the river, hunched over. His state of undress was enough of an interesting sight, but by the Maker, she wasn't sure if she should like what she saw or not. The lyrium markings across his back stood out against his skin, daylight splaying over them as they traced along his skin in intricate patterns that she couldn't identify as anything but magic. Each one was like a silk thread drawn across his muscles, which flexed with every movement, taut and chiseled. It would have been a beautiful sight, to stare at him all day, watch the sun set across his skin, but the lyrium wasn't the only thing marking him. Scattered over his back were scars, all of differing sizes, some grey and faded with time while others white in their newness. They overlapped each other in a contained chaos stretching from his neck all the way down below his belt and out of sight. There was no more jarring evidence of the cruelty he had endured under his former master.

Hawke's heart sank in her chest. She had come to care dearly for Fenris over the years; he watched her back as she did his, was steadfast and clear in his goals while she did what she could to hang on. He was living a life that she feared, life alone, and nothing would have made her happier than to ease that pain by his side. To her, race and station meant nothing - she loved him, and seeing the remains of the suffering he had endured, she wanted nothing more than to give him the love that he sorely lacked.

Fenris suddenly sat up, his wet hair grey and dripping down his back, plastered to his face, the rivulets of water falling around his ears and tracing the muscles in his neck in their descent. Watching him, every second more beautiful than the last, she could only think that even Andraste would find herself blushing at the sight, and she knew she was blushing too. He made a movement to get up, obviously finished washing himself off, and Hawke made herself scarce, heading back quickly and quietly more anyone - especially Fenris - spotted her.

When she got back, Anders looked her over once and asked her if she was unwell, noting the flushed cheeks. she did her best to diffuse the situation, telling him she was fine. She was a terrible liar, so Anders saw through it and was on his way to cornering her to check her for fever when Fenris returned, hair still damp and clinging to his skin. His eyes narrowed at the proximity of Hawke and Anders, scowling a little more than usual. Before the situation exploded further, Hawke called their break over and insisted on hurrying back to Kirkwall, having noticed that Varric had snuck back unnoticed, a smile on his face that told her he had his suspicions about what had happened. Hiding her face as best she could with her bangs, she stormed off, hoping to get back home before anything else embarrassing happened to her.


	4. Affections (His)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Adrenaline can only take you so far. Desire does the rest.

At that moment, Fenris felt like the greatest arse in Kirkwall. He probably would have challenged anyone who denied it. He felt like shit and he knew he deserved it.

The only thing left to do was apologize.

Hightown was never a place he liked, despite living there, so he was thankful that the Amell estate was close by. If he'd had any more time to think his actions over, he would have been even more upset with himself and called the whole thing off. Killing Hadriana, knowing that Danarius was still keen on finding him... the rage inside him had flared stronger than it had in quite some time. It reminded him of his slavery, made him feel like an object again, a thing to be passed around and possessed. He hated it, and the hatred burned everything around him to ashes, even hurting the ones who had shown him kindness. Hawke had tried to calm him and he had snapped at her as violently as if he had turned his blade on her. She hadn't deserved it and he had walked away, stewing over everything. By the time he had collected himself, it was evening and he had decided that he needed to apologize, sooner rather than later.

It took him a moment to work up the nerve to knock on the front door, even though he had been told along with the others that he was welcome to drop in without warning whenever it pleased him. Hurried footsteps sounded a moment later and the door was flung open by a familiar face: Orana, the elf girl they had met on their way through the caves. Hawke had offered her a job - a servant rather than a slave - if only to make sure nothing untoward happened to the wayward girl. Still, he was just as surprised to see her as she was him.

She gave him a meek smile and bowed her head slightly. "Hello. I'll go inform Mas-" She cut herself off. "I mean, Milady - that you're here." She held the door open for him, closing it behind him and giving him a little bow before quietly hurrying off to find her new employer. He watched her off down the hall and out of sight, a small smile on his lips at how well she was adjusting. He knew she had suffered, perhaps not as he had, but Danarius' evil had touched even her and he was glad to see her free of it.

The self-loathing had returned to him in full force by the time Hawke's familiar footsteps caught his ears and he looked up. Standing before him in an open tunic tied at her waist and a skirt, stockings up barely past her knees, it was the most revealing thing he had ever seen her wear, the soft skin of her thighs and throat an unprecedented sight. Of course she would dress more casually in the comfort of her own home, he berated himself: no one would wear heavy armor all the time... except him.

"I've been thinking about what happened with Hadriana," he said to her, watching her expression closely. _What had magic touched that it hasn't spoiled?_ He had asked her rhetorically, still angry, before realizing what he had said. Her father had been a mage, magic had touched her whole life, and he had thrown his word at her like a slap across the face. For all that he had said before, Hawke's expression was unreadable, level and measured. "I took out my anger on you - undeservedly so. I was... not myself. I'm sorry." The words tumbled from his mouth, more impulse than thought, and he wished he could take them back and word them better.

She let out a deep sigh. "I had no idea where you went. I was concerned."

"I needed to be alone." So much emotion had been running through him, tormenting him, that he had left to avoid hurting anyone further - Hawke or himself. "When I was still a slave, Hadriana was a torment. She would ridicule me, deny my meals, hound my sleep. Because of her status, I was powerless to respond and she knew it." The memories came flooding back to him, stoking the fire of rage inside him. Nothing had been more gratifying for him than to feel her heart burst, crushed in his hand, watching her die... "The thought of letting her out of my grasp now... I couldn't let her go. I wanted to, but I couldn't." He had never known forgiveness from her, so she had earned none of his; what little forgiveness he had to give, anyway.

"You wanted to?" Hawke asked, sounding a little confused by his intent.

His chest seized up inside, the loathing he felt working its way back into his heart. "This hatred... I thought I had gotten away from it, but it dogs me no matter where I go. To feel it again... to know it was they who planted it inside me... It was too much to bear." It was too heavy a burden for him. For all his physical strength and ability, his strength of will was non-existent. It was his weakness and he hated himself for it. Even now. "I didn't come here to burden you further." All he had done was complain to her, which he had sworn not to do. These weren't her problems, and he didn't want her to deal with them. Having said his piece, he turned to leave.

"Don't go."

If the words had been spoken any quieter, even he would have missed them, breathed out as they were. The sudden hand on his arm, the memory of the pain his markings had caused... Without warning, he snapped, spinning around and pushing Hawke up against the wall, his instinct for survival kicking in and his markings flaring up before he realized just what he had done. Hawke... Out of nowhere he had made to attack her, his armored hands digging into her sleeves. One second less of restraint and he could have... Even the thought of possibly killing Hawke pulled dread into his core. He was so close to her, close enough to feel her breath against his face, drink in her smell, drown in her eyes... He could have ended her life on the hatred he was trying to escape from.

He could have destroyed the one thing he loved in all the world.

Hands shaking, he pulled away from her, feeling ashamed of himself for the split second before she grabbed him by the shoulders and _kissed him_. It was unimaginably quick on her part, how long it took for her to nearly leap at him and paste her lips against his. They were softer than he could have imagined, warn and sweet against his like nothing he had ever tasted. She was so close, her breath caressing across his cheeks, her hold on his arms gentle yet firm. Her dark hair brushed against his forehead like velvet. It was intoxicating. He had never been with a woman, so for the woman he admired and adored above all other to be so suddenly _touching_ him without his markings causing him agonizing pain... He could have passed out right there.

Just as suddenly as she had jumped him, she pulled away and spun him around, too far gone for him to even protest as she pinned him against the wall and returned her lips to his. They parted, slowly, and he felt his heart beating faster as her breath brushed his lips, ghosting across them like a feather. Oh yes, there was nothing he wanted more in this moment than her. To taste her as his tongue slid between her lips and curled against hers, exploring every inch of her mouth. To hold her close as his hands rose to her sides and pulled her in, feeling every curve of her body pressed up against his. It was more than he had ever dreamed of, his palms exploring up along her back and down to her waist as they struggled against each other for every breath, neither willing to let their lips part. He pulled her in so close to him that nothing was left to the imagination and she had to stretch onto her toes just to keep herself on the floor. Every hot breath made him ache for her, every touch feeding his desire. Never had he realized just how much he wanted this, to be with her as any man could be with the woman he loved, and now that he had her, he wasn't about to let her go. The fingers of his gauntlet found her rear and - with an experimental squeeze of her firm skin through the fabric - she let out a moan that was swallowed down his throat and rumbled in his ears.

He wasn't sure when exactly they got to her room or how they managed it, but no sooner had they arrived there than he realized just how tight his pants were getting. Arousal was building that he had never known and it drove him mad with need. He tossed his restrictive clothes and then hers, piece by irritating piece across her floor before finally pinning their naked forms together against her bed. Here, in the firelight, she was more beautiful than ever, the orange glow casting across her skin and outlining the features of her form. She was soft against his chest, her breasts firm and pressed snugly against him. Her hands found their way across his back, holding him as he held her, fingers splayed across every imperfection in his skin. Most of all was the warmth, radiating out from her core, reaching down to every place their bodies met, her heartbeat pulsing against his skin in time with his own racing heart.

They explored each other with their hands, lips slick with the other's saliva. He relished in every touch, each press or squeeze eliciting a moan or gasp of pleasure. Her hands traced the markings along his back, gentle in their discoveries of every little shift in the muscles of his shoulders. Each time one of her fingertips passed across a mark, feather-light, a wave of pleasure radiated out from his core, groans rumbling up and out of his chest. He could barely even keep his mind on the fact that it didn't hurt. Even the agony of those first memories seemed to melt away at her touch, the warmth she brought to him making him slick with a thin layer of sweat.

Breaking away from her lips, he slid his mouth along her jawline, taking in the taste of her skin and memorizing it. Unable to be silenced, her moans grew louder, making the knot in his core radiate with hunger. He wanted her so badly that his entire body was pressed to her, his erect manhood digging into the soft skin of her thighs. His finger slid down to her legs, bringing more moans from her lips, to spread her legs from under him, revealing the wet pink flesh peeking out there. He slowly traced along through the black curls, running his fingertip along the opening until her hips bucked against his hand.

"Fenris..." she gasped out as he continued to explore, now guiding his tongue along her jaw and the side of her neck. Finally, when his fingers were drenched in her fluids, he slid them up into her. Her back arched as she inhaled sharply, her hips pressing against his hand. Even though it was just his fingers, her insides clenched around them tightly, quivering and nearly scalding at his touch. He moved them around experimentally and her hips rocked once into his hand. " _Fenris_..."

His mind was growing hazy - whether from lack of air or built up pleasure - but he could contain himself no longer. He withdraw his fingers from within her and pulled one of her legs up and around his waist, thin tendrils of sticky desire sticking to his hand and up her thigh. He was sure she was prepared enough; lining himself up, he entered her, easing himself in slowly as she gasped and shook under him until he could cleanly slide himself in all the way, burying himself to the hilt inside her. He had thought her lips intoxicating, but the heat of her wrapped around him made him see white, her insides pressing down around him from every angle as far as he could go. She started up a rhythm, clearly as impatient as he was, rolling her hips against him to draw him out and back into her. He obliged, mirroring her actions, drawing himself nearly all the way out before pressing back in as far as he could go. "Fen...ris... I... I lo... love... you...!" she gasped out around moans of increasing pleasure.

More than anything did he want to return her words, tell her how much he loved her, that she was the moon in his dark life, the sunlight breaking though his rainy days, that she meant everything to him and more, but all he could manage were grunts and groans around the wet, sweaty sounds of their lovemaking. They climaxed together, the knot inside him unravelling as though it had snapped, his back arching as he felt himself spilling everything into her as she shuddered and convulsed underneath him. In that second, something came to him, as sharp and stinging as a slap across the face and over just as swiftly, filling his mind entirely and then draining away, leaving behind the empty space it had occupied.

They wound down, pressed against each other, both gasping for air with their heated breath, the moisture of their sweat evaporating into invisible steam around them. At last, pulling out from her, his seed stuck to the inside of her thighs, he flopped onto the sheets next to her, eyes closed, trying to let his mind process what had happened in that adrenaline-filled moment, while his love buried her face in his side, exhausted.

* * *

By the time he heard Hawke stirring, Fenris had already dressed and had alternated between pacing around the room and staring into the fireplace for the past few minutes. He had tucked her under the clean sheets before he got up, brushing stray stands of hair off her face with the back of his hand. His assessment hadn't been wrong; she was beautiful - to him, much more so now than ever before. His feelings for her, though, were now much more complicated, so much so that he could barely even look at her until she spoke.

"Was it that bad?" she asked, half jokingly. He turned to her, almost offended that she would even think that of herself. Maker, was she ever wrong.

"I'm sorry, I... t's not... It was fine." He wanted to kick himself. _Fine_ was the biggest understatement he'd ever heard, let alone spoken. He internally cursed himself, gathering his words. "No, that is... insufficient. It was better than anything I could have dreamed." In his eyes, she was perfection, more of a goddess than Andraste herself, worth all love and adoration. The one that was undeserving was him. But that wasn't the problem...

She stared into his eyes for as long as he could hold them, trying to assess what it was bothering him. "Your markings; they hurt, don't they?" A wave of guilt washed over him. She thought that she had hurt him, even though that was the farthest thing from the truth.

"It's not that..." Some of the lines on her face softened, glad that he hadn't suffered, but he couldn't keep it from her. The truth needed to be spoken, lest she think worse of herself. "I began to remember... my life before. Just... flashes- It's too much." The space in his head had filled up with memories, memories that he had grasped in that moment of ecstasy and slipped back through his fingers as easily as they came, leaving only a seething, aching hole. It hurt, knowing that they had been so close, knowing for a second the truth and lies that had filled his life. He had struggled, paced, and tormented himself over it for the past few minutes. "This is too fast. I cannot... _do this_." He couldn't bring himself to look at her, knowing he would see his own agony and indecision mirrored in her eyes. The last thing he wanted was to hurt her like this, to make this decision and regret it for the rest of his life.

"We can work through this." Her voice was soft, full of patience, and it hurt him even more to hear that. 

"I'm sorry. I feel like such a fool." He had come here to apologize for hurting her, and now all he could do was hurt her more. She deserved better than him, for all the love that he had for her. "All I wanted was to be happy... just for a little while..." It was agony, more agony than he had ever endured under Danarius, and it was spilling out faster than he could contain. He felt torn in half between his past and her, much more than he could endure. "Forgive me," he whispered, turning his back and leaving before she could open her mouth in reply.

He didn't want think about it, to look at her and feel so much regret and sadness. Not even all those years enduring the torture and torment of slavery hurt him as much as walking out into the streets of Hightown alone, knowing what he had left behind. In those moments with her, pressed together, the whole world reduced to only them and they love that shared... He knew. He was happy. Happiness was something he could never have. With heavy footsteps and an even heavier heart, he made his way back home.

It wasn't until he finally collapsed on his bed and threw his arm over his eyes in shame that he realized he was holding something, feeling it tickle his cheek. Sitting up, he looked down at the thing in his hand in surprise. It was a simple piece of red cloth, too short for a scarf, too wide for a ribbon, and too big for a handkerchief. It was soft, delicate... and smelled of her. Realizing that he must of picked it up in her room during his contemplation, he looked down at it, wondering just what to do. There was no way he was going back to return it. He didn't think he could ever face Hawke after something like that. Instead, he took the cloth scrap and tied it around his wrist, laying back down to stare at it.

A reminder of the emotions he felt for the woman he loved and couldn't have. A reminder of his own foolishness and cowardice. A memory to never forget...


	5. Accusations (His)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Decisions you regret hurt more when someone you dislike brings them up...

It happened on an afternoon, when Hawke had stepped away to pick up some supplies in Lowtown. The smell of refuse and vomit had long since stopped bothering him, but sharing it with someone he despised did nothing to help abate it, especially when that person was eyeing him so pointedly. For all the help Anders provided the group with his healing, Fenris still had no reason to like him, abomination that he was. Isabela, to her credit, seemed to be minding her own business, looking over he nails as though they needed tending to.

Every time he glanced over, he caught Anders staring at the cloth wrapped around his wrist. Hawke had noticed it too: she had glanced at it for a moment before resuming her work, as though nothing had ever changed. It had changed a lot, but she still brought him along on her errands and trusted him to watch her back, which he was thankful for. The air between them had changed, a hesitation lingering between them, words that should be spoken that they kept to themselves. The topic of the cloth, however, was never brought up beyond that single, emotionless glance. Instead, Anders was the one staring looking like he had something to say on the matter.

He only spoke up with Fenris folded his arms across his chest, hiding his wrist from sight.

"I can't imagine what Hawke sees in you," the mage grumbled under his breath. Though Anders had never made his feelings for Hawke public, it had never been much of a secret to anyone, the way he cornered her with his opinions on mages and templars, seemingly begging for her attention. The thought of her, as beautiful as she had been on that night, with someone like Anders - the _abomination_ that he was - only served to make Fenris sick. Just the thought of it disgusted him more than the city stench.

"It is done. Leave it be." It wasn't something he wanted to talk about, especially not with Anders.

This seemed to dispel some of the mage's mood. "Well, good. I always knew she had some sense." 

"Do not make light of this," Fenris snapped back. It was a memory tinged with regret for him - not for the act itself, but of what he left behind. He had walked away in his cowardice, and the connection they had formed had been severed by this own hands. His anger, the hatred that was all he had, the memories that he had lost as it wormed his way through his heart... He could never escape it. That was why he wore the cloth scrap - as a reminder of his weakness, of the pain and regret, of the woman he loved but could never deserve to have. "Leaving was the hardest thing I've ever done."

"Oh, will you two get over yourselves? You're like two dogs around a bitch in heat," Isabela cut in, still looking over her nails. She sounded like she was enjoying herself, listening to them squabble, as though the information was worth coin. He wouldn't have put it past her to bet on something like that, knowing her; Varric might have very well been on the other end of her dealings.

Fenris turned to throw her an icy glare. "We were talking about Hawke. Not you," he growled back irritably.

As the words finished escaping his lips, Hawke walked between him and Anders with almost rogue-like stealth, her mouth set in a expressionless line, shoulders stiff. The air seemed to freeze around her, leaving Fenris to wonder just how much of their conversation she had heard. "We're finished. Isabela, I'm buying drinks," Hawke croaked, her voice sore: she had heard enough. The finality in her tone left nothing to question.

Isabela waved the two men off. "Ladies only, boys. Have fun!" With a dismissive flick of her wrist, she gave chase after Hawke, who was rigidly walking toward the Hanged Man.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My computer froze while I was writing this and I had to rewrite it. It's not as good. Ah, the pain of being a writer.


	6. Names (Hers)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Names have power.

"A book?"

Hawke nodded in reply. She obviously wasn't going to mention she found it in a trash bag in the alienage in the middle of the night on her way home from speaking to Merrill. The thing was in good shape for garbage; she'd even managed to keep her mabari from drooling all over it when she was cleaning it up in her room. There was no indication of why anyone would throw away such a particularly well-kept book, but as they (mainly Isabela justifying hooking up with lovesick drunks) said, one man's trash is another's treasure. "I thought you might like it, considering the subject matter. It's written by Shartan, the elf who helped Andraste free the slaves. You know about him, right?"

Fenris seemed a little uncomfortable. It was true that they hadn't spoken privately since their... _encounter_ , but that was no reason for them not to see each other at all. She still trusted him to watch her back, and there was no other sword arm in Kirkwall she trusted like him. "A little. It's just..." he hesitated. "Slaves are not permitted to read... I've never learned."

It took a moment for his words to sink in. _Oh_. "I could teach you, if you'd like. It's not too late to learn."

"Isn't it? Sometimes I wonder..." He looked downcast for a second before meeting her gaze. "I don't mean to sound ungrateful. I do appreciate the thought. I've always wanted to learn more of Shartan. Perhaps this is my chance."

"Would you like me to start teaching you now?" she asked.

"So soon?"

She nodded, dropping herself on the floor near the fireplace. "It's easier than you might think. Come, sit here." Confused at first, Fenris hesitated, eyeing her position before reluctantly seating himself beside her, keeping a respectful distance. She tried to reassure him with a small smile. "In fact, it'll be easier than when I learned. You have a better vocabulary than I did. It's all about learning to recognize letters by their sounds and putting those sounds together to make words."

"You certainly make it sound easy..."

"It is, when you know the trick. Here," she shuffled herself close to him, opening the book on his lap, their shoulders nearly touching. She felt him lean away before she realized just how close they were. They hadn't spoken about what had happened; he didn't seem comfortable with it, and she had no desire to upset him by bringing it up. That night had been magical to her, like a dream come true or a miracle by the Maker himself. She loved him... Selfless enough to let him leave, but selfish enough that she couldn't stay away. Just being near him was enough for her. "Sorry. It's easier for both of us to see the book like this. We can stop, if you like..."

He let out a sigh, slowly resuming a normal position near her. "You... enjoy reading?" he asked, breaking a moment of awkward silence as she flipped through the pages to find a suitable starting point.

"Very much so. I've been reading all kinds of books since I was a child. My father taught me." She let out a dry laugh. "My father, the apostate."

Another awkward silence hung between then, again broken by Fenris. "You father... what was he like?"

She blinked and looked over a him. Fenris' opinions on mages were clear, and were so for good reason. That he asked... was more than a little surprising. "You... truly wish to know?" If he was just asking to be polite, that was fine as well.

Fenris gave a noncommittal shrug. "For being a mage, his daughter certainly seems unharmed by it. There are exceptions."

She sat up, leaning away with her arms for support. The fire crackled warmly beside them, as warm as her memories of her father. "Very well. Let's see... My father, Malcolm Hawke, was a good man and a good father. When he and mother left Kirkwall, they had nothing but their happiness, so my father worked to support us. For being an apostate, he rarely ever used magic, even in secret. He was kind, honest, loving... I couldn't have thought of having a better father. He used to call me his little Hawkelette."

"I'd assume your feathery hairstyle had something to do with it," he joked playfully, eliciting a laugh from her.

"Not quite. From when I was young, when I learned I had no magic in me, my father told me that I was to be a warrior, a hunter... He said he could see it in my eyes. He told me that one day I would shed my downy feathers, and that when I did, I would be free to soar the skies as I pleased..." She felt her next words catch in her throat. "Before he died, he said 'Marian, now is the time to spread your wings, my darling Hawke'. It was... the last thing he said to me..."

Another silence hung between them, Hawke feeling her chest tighten uncomfortably. Remembering all the things about her father made her happy, but each memory was filled with loneliness and longing. She had adored her father, loved him like no other, and he had shown her his love in turn, making her laugh and smile. His death had left an aching hole in her life, one that could never be filled.

"He would be proud to see you now." She started, surprised to hear those words spoken in Fenris' voice. He met her gaze, his eyes sincere, speaking more volumes than his words. "To see the warrior you've become."

"My father always told me, 'Names have power. The moment something has a name, there's no way to deny it exists and has individual value'. He told me that being a Hawke was something to be proud of, even if he was an apostate, because it was a strong name... A bird of prey." Hawke shook her head, smiling. "But we've digressed. I was going to teach you how to read. There's two things my father taught me when reading. The first: when you come across a word you can't pronounce, try sounding it out in your head. I'll show you which letters make particular sounds."

"And the second?"

"When you don't know what a word means, never be afraid to ask."


	7. Family (Hers)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mothers know best, because they love their children unconditionally.

In the years that she had lived in Kirkwall, Hawke had worked foremost to look after her family. Despite the tension that had formed between them after Carver's death, and again when Bethany had been taken to the Circle, she cared for her mother deeply, even if she carried much more of the guilt for her siblings' fates than she should. Leandra was her family, so when she had pulled her daughter aside one night for a cup of tea, she thought nothing of it.

"Marian..." Leandra began, the serious lines around her eyes making her look much older. Hawke had always been told that she took after her mother when it came to her looks, and she secretly hoped she looked even half as good at that age. "Being back in the old house has made me think... I'm concerned about... your future."

"Concerned? You needn't worry about me squandering this, unlike uncle," she muttered, taking a sip of her tea.

"I've been debating with myself over finding you a suitor."

Hawke nearly choked on her tea, barely managing to avoid spilling it all over her lap. "A _what_?!"

"I know you enjoy running around the city, taking on thieves and slavers, but sooner or later, you'll need to settle down. I just want to make sure you're well taken care of when you do."

"I'm perfectly capable of finding a partner myself, Mother," she retorted bitterly, glaring into her tea. She had no interest in marrying a noble more concerned with her wealth and station than her actual well-being; she wasn't a trophy to be hauled around and shown off at parties. Marian Hawke would be her own woman, with a man who was satisfied with her the way she was. Besides... The night she had spent with Fenris, their bodies pressed together in carnal pleasure... It was still fresh in her mind, as though she could reach out and run her fingers across his skin. She was still so deeply in love with him that even the thought of being with anyone else was vile.

Leandra seemed to sense her feelings, as she let out a deep sigh. "I'm well aware. I've seen the way you and that elf look at each other." Her lips turned up in a knowing smile before she let out another sigh. "An elven slave. Maker's breath, I hope you know what you're getting yourself into."

"He's not a slave, Mother," Hawke replied. No matter how many times she repeated it, people insisted on say it. "He's a free man. Besides, I would say that our relationship is no different than you and father... if not somewhat more complicated."

"Too true, my dear," her mother chuckled. Careful, she set down her cup and leaned forward, placing her hands on either side of her daughter's face. "You're right. I see in you myself as I was in my youth; a young woman deeply in love. No doubt I feel as my mother must have felt back then. I just... I want you to be happy. I want you to be safe. Your father would want the same."

"I know, and I am..." She paused, thinking again on Fenris' words that night. _All I wanted was to be happy... just for a little while..._ She had been happy in that moment, happy knowing that they had shared their feelings, happy that he loved her, happy that he had showed it to her... The happiness had slipped from between her fingers the moment she had realized she was holding it. But the cloth band around his arm had been hers, and she knew. Deep in her heart, she knew, and she loved him all the more for it. Even if he could not be hers, she held a place in his heart, as he did in hers. She would do anything to help him, even if it meant finding Danarius and killing him herself. If it meant she could be with Fenris, she was resolved to do anything. "I am happy, Mother. Even if not now, I will be. I can promise you that."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I almost missed these conversations because I didn't think she had anything to say, let alone on this matter. Cue my exasperated, embarrassed cries of "Mother!" at 4 in the morning.


	8. Fear (His)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fear brings out the truest emotions in all of us.

The blade raised over her head, blood splattered all over her, dead Qunari littering the floor, Hawke steadied herself and then brought it down, piercing deep into the Arishok's chest. After an agonizing battle, it was finally over, and Fenris felt a weight in his chest lift. They had been fighting for hours, running through the burning city as people ran past them, trying to get to whatever safety they could find. Now, with the threat over, the Arishok dead, they could finally relax. Hawke in particular looked exhausted, turning to look down at him with a weary smile a second before her expression became one of abject horror.

She looked down and his eyes followed, widening in shock and fear at the blade sticking out of her torso, the Arishok's last breath wheezing out of him as his hand slipped from the hilt. Fenris met her eyes, his own fear mirrored back at him, and Hawke collapsed to the floor. He ran to her, his own sword discarded, sitting her up in his lap as the pool of blood forming underneath her began to spread. His breath caught in his throat. Why? Where the hell was the damn abomination? He glanced around frantically, but he couldn't see anything but the corpses littering the room.

Fear began to build up in his chest. Hawke was losing too much blood; every second she bled, the closer she came to... He didn't even want to think about it. Looking down at her, she met his eyes with a weak smile, trying to put on a brave face, her lips tinged with blood. "Fen...ris..." she croaked out, her body shuddering feebly.

"No talking. Everything will be fine," he reassured her, more for his own reassurance. He looked up again, scanning the room once more. He swore in Tevene; still no sign of Anders, let alone anyone who could help. Only death.

He felt her hand on his and looked down, her trembling fingers resting softly on the cloth at his wrist. He hadn't even realized he'd been holding her wound, trying to hold the blood in to no avail. He could see the life draining out of her, the light slowly leaving her eyes, leaving them dull and empty. Agony gripped at his heart, as tight as if he'd reached inside himself and clenched it. Still, she smiled, a trickle of blood trailing from the corner of her lips. "Fen... ris... I..."

"Quiet. You'll be fine, Hawke." His heart hammering in his chest, he glanced around a third time. The room was dark, only the poor flickering of flames outside to provide any light. Still no one. He panicked. "Someone! She needs healing! Anyone!" His words hung in the silent air, broken only by the hollow, wet cough of Hawke trying to speak.

"I love... you..." She breathed. Fenris looked down, locking eyes with her as the words left her lips, her trembling body stilling in his arms, her last breath leaving her as her hand slumped back, lifeless. His heart skipped an ominous beat and he brought his hand to her face, trying to hold her up, as if it would keep her life in place, but only managed to smear blood along her cheek. Her soft skin, softness still fresh in his memories of holding her close, was grimy and crusted with blood, the warmth draining from her with each passing second.

"No." The word left his lips against his will, as if it had been spoken by someone continents away, sounding foreign  to his ears. He cradled Hawke's limp form in his arms, unaware that his entire body was shaking, holding her to his chest as his vision blurred. There was screaming, loud and broken, and he suddenly realized it was his own, sitting in the blood pool of the woman he loved, unable to protect her, unable to save her... His hopeless screams the only thing he had left. "No no _no no no no no_..."

Fenris jerked awake, chested clenched painfully, the lyrium marking on his skin glowing faintly. He cursed and rolled onto his back. His skin was slick with sweat, the nightmare still fresh in his mind, and he held up his hand, looking at the cloth on his wrist. He knew that is he closed his eyes, he'd see it again, fresh in his mind... Hawke's blood coating his hands, her still form battered and broken in his arms... There was nothing he wanted more in that moment to hold her, reassure himself it was only a nightmare, to bury his face in the skin of her shoulder and feel the soft locks of her hair brush across his face... He let out a sigh. It had been almost three years, and yet he still recalled her touch, longing for nothing more than to feel it again, tell her of his love for her and how he hated himself for leaving... But there were other matters to attend to.

He sat up and, with a low rumble of discomfort, staggered off to find something to drink.


	9. Disgust (Hers)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Betrayal is unforgivable in the eyes of this woman.

Hawke hated the stares. She had never asked to be named 'Champion of Kirkwall'. For all she cared, they could have named her 'Babysitter of Kirkwall' or 'Custodian of Kirkwall' and she wouldn't have batted an eye. Normally, some recognition was welcome, especially when followed by Varric's exaggerated stories, but with the title resting snugly on her shoulders, each embellished feat added an unbearable weight that she'd rather cast off. Today, especially, the stares were disconcerting, following behind Fenris as she accompanied him to the Hanged Man. They were going to meet his sister, Varania, and while she was hoping everything would go smoothly, she knew Varric would be hanging around there and she had sent off a message to Anders with Bohdan before they left. If her suspicions came true, she hoped going in a pair would give them an element of surprise.

The moment they entered the Hanged Man, Hawke knew something was wrong. It was... oddly quiet, even for so early in the day. One of the larger tables was occupied by a single patron, and Hawke instantly knew who she was, even before she spoke. She was a well-groomed elf with auburn hair and lighter skin, but the resemblance in their eyes was unmistakable. She glanced up for a second, her eyes meeting Fenris', before she looked down. "It really is you..."

Suddenly, Hawke felt a chill run up her spine, the unmistakable air of magic tinged with something disturbing, something dark. She caught the irregularity in Fenris' voice - having already tuned out the conversation to try to identify where her unease could be coming from - and she turned to him. "Fenris, we're leaving. Now!"

Before they could move, another voice, one she didn't recognize, cut in, footsteps approaching. Looking up to the landing, Hawke found the source of the magic, an aged, greying mage that radiated an air of superiority, one that made her heart shudder in her chest. "Ah, my little Fenris. Predictable, as always." A small band of armed men followed behind him as he descended the stairs.

Varania, watching her brother's expression shift as cold realization downed over him, managed to speak out. "I'm sorry it came to this, Leto."

"You lead him here!" Fenris growled at her, and Hawke managed her own glare. This woman had betrayed her own brother; she didn't sound sorry in the slightest.

"Now, now, Fenris, don't blame your sister," Danarius chided, as if speaking to a child. "She did what any good Imperial citizen should."

Fenris rounded his glare on his former master. "I never asked for these filthy marking, Danarius, but I won't let you kill me to get them."

Danarius let out a chuckle. "How little you know, my pet." He paused, seeming to have noticed the cloth around Fenris' wrist, looking over Hawke for the first time. There was a momentary hesitation as he took mental notes, likely drawing a connection to the red scarf she had tied around the neck of her chestplate. "And this is your new mistress, then? The Champion of Kirkwall... Quite lovely."

Hawke felt another chill run down her spine in disgust. The look in his eyes was cool and appraising, as though he were trying to judge her value in coin. With a start, she realized that maybe he was; judging how much she would be worth to a slaver, or worse... how much he could use her for a slave of his own. There was appraising, but there was also a dark, feral look to him, as though he would find some way for her best serve him. Beside her, she felt Fenris shift slightly, hatred radiating off of him like waves of heat. If he had come to the same conclusion, he didn't speak it.

"Fenris doesn't belong to anyone," Hawke retorted, trying her best to keep the nervousness from her voice.

"Do I detect a note of jealousy?" Danarius replied with a chuckle, knowing he had hit his mark. "It's not surprising. The lad is rather skilled, isn't he?"

_What... oh_. The tone of his voice said it all. Somehow, he knew just what to say to upset her. His implication said it all; the things he had done to Fenris, the abuse... and in that briefest exchange of expressions, he knew exactly how she felt about everything. He had laid bare her love for Fenris before him, the twisted old man, and was prodding at it with his words like a child examining a dead animal with a stick. Without having even been touched by him, she felt violated, just by his presence alone.

Beside her, Fenris was livid, markings bright and ready to strike. "Shut your mouth, Danarius!"

Danarius sighed, ready again with his belittling reprimanding. "The word is _Master_."

In that instant, the stagnant air around them erupted into battle, and Hawke steeled herself, forcing back her rage to absorb the room around her. Varania had backed herself against a wall, making sure to stay out of the way. Danarius had retreated to the top of the stairs, content to observe from on high. The middle of the room was a whirl of battle, Fenris' guttural cries radiating from the center, swinging his greatsword with wild abandon, hitting anything that moved around him. For all his rage, he was still composed enough to focus on his enemies attacks, bringing his blade in to clash against the blades of his enemies.

Hawke drew her sword and arced it in front of her, catching the blade of a man coming for her, knocking him off balance enough for her to swing herself around and kick his feet out from under him. He dropped to the floor and she none-too-kindly stepped on him, using him as a platform to cut across another man's arm, hearing the telltale crunch of bone as he screamed. There was the glorious flex of her muscles getting into the swing of battle, adrenaline rushing into her system, and she flowed with it, slicing at anyone who dared near her. Within moments, the air was filled with the telltale scent of demons, creeping up at Danarius' call. Despite the reinforcements, Hawke was calm, her rage and disgust evening out as she fell into her familiar rhythm. In the flow of it, she felt Fenris at her back, ghosting past her, at her side for a reassuring fraction of a second before he plunged back into battle.

She hacked off the arm of a Shade and looked up just in time to see a crossbow bolt lodge itself in the thing's head: Varric, late to the party. Another Shade came at her from the side, frozen solidly in ice moments before she shattered it. A cooling wave of relief washed over her, and she glanced at the doorway to see Anders tossing spells in support. Together, the four of them tore through the reinforcements like butter.

Stopping to look for her next target, Hawke felt something smash into her from behind, _hard_ , knocking her over a table and onto the floor by Anders' feet. The room spun and her side burned with a sharp pain until another healing spell dulled it to a light soreness. Danarius himself had joined the fray, casting powerful spells, and Fenris had engaged him directly, positively glowing as he took swings at his former master. Pushing herself to her feet, she found her blade and charged with it. Danarius threw a blast of frost at her, freezing the floor, and she took advantage of it, using her blade as a shield to let her momentum slide along towards him. He moved, but she was close enough, cutting through his robes with her dagger, managing to draw blood just before she went tumbling upside-down into the wall.

It was the opening that Fenris had needed, and he charged in, snarling like a wolf, to sink his hand into Danarius' neck, cutting off the man's air supply. " _You_ are no longer my master!" With a loud bursting sound, the mage's throat was crushed, blood spewing from his mouth before Fenris yanked his hand back out, ripping whatever of the shredded organ he'd been holding out with it. His clawed gauntlet dripped with blood and he dropped the torn meat to the ground with a wet squelch. Hawke sat up, dazed and sore, to see Fenris glaring down Varania, who was huddled next to the wall.

"I had no choice, Leto," she told him as he encroached on her.

Fenris growled. "Stop calling me that!"

"He was going to make me his apprentice. I would have been a magister," she continued, as if her reasoning excused her actions.

"You sold out your own brother to become a magister?!" His voice dripped with venom, and Hawke, pushing herself off the floor, knew his anger was justified. It would have been as if she had betrayed Bethany to the Circle herself, acquiring her status through betrayal rather than her hard-earned coin. Anders threw another healing spell over her, easing her pain, but her heart still hurt too much to speak.

Varania seemed spurred on by his accusation. "You have no idea what we went through - what I've had to do since mother died! This was my only chance!"

"And now you have no chance at all!" His markings glowing blue, Fenris backed his sister into the wall, snarling.

"Please, don't do this!" Varania begged, holding her hands up to beg forgiveness. She turned her eyes on Hawke, beseeching. "Please, tell him to stop!"

In that moment, Fenris stopped, waiting on her. She knew he would back off if she told him to, but she was hardly feeling that magnanimous. Everything about this day had disgusted her; from Varania's actions to Danarius' words, she felt unclean. She understood now, rather than being told, exactly why Fenris had harboured such hatred in him for these people. Self-serving pigs who used Fenris like a plaything to be tossed around so long as he had value. Never before had she encountered something so vile; even the Circle mages had it better than this. Her heart hardened, narrowing her eyes at the woman before her. She knew her answer before Varania even had to ask.

"It's not my place. Do as you like, Fenris," she replied dispassionately, turning away.

It was enough of an answer for Fenris. "I would have given you everything," he breathed, unbearable sadness in his voice as he reached out and grabbed Varania's heart in her chest, listening to gasp and screams as he crushed it in his hand, letting her body drop to the floor. No one, not even Anders, broke the silence that followed, giving Fenris the time to collect himself. Struggle evident on his face, he turned away from the corpse that was once his sister. "I thought discovering my past would bring me a sense of belonging... but I was wrong. Magic has tainted that, too. There is nothing for me to reclaim," he muttered bitterly. "I am alone."

Hawke's heart skipped a beat, warmth flowing back into her chest. There was nothing she wanted more than to hold him and plant kisses on his cheeks, to tell him how much she loved him, to never let anything hurt him ever again... but she couldn't bring herself to do anything other than reply softly, " _I'm_ here, Fenris." If nothing else, she would stay at his side for as long as he allowed her to.

Fenris seemed to take her words to heart, his eyes filled with a bittersweet happiness as he placed his hand on her shoulder, sharing a moment of warmth before he turned to take one last look at what was once Varania. When he turned back, his usual demeanor had returned. "I feel unclean, like this magic is not only etched into my skin, but has also stained my soul. And now this..." He glanced over in the direction of Varania. "Let's go. I need to get out of here."

Hawke watched Fenris stalk past her to the door, feeling another weight drop onto her shoulders. Anders gave her a look as though questioning her decision to stay out of that particular affair, but she shook her head, feeling too worn out to do anything but walk out the door. Maker, she needed some fresh air.


	10. Affections (Hers)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Love waits... just as long as both parties can keep it in their pants.

It took a hot bath and a methodical cleaning of her armor to calm Hawke's nerves. Everything that had happened in the Hanged Man earlier that day had wound her up and tired her out, but by the time evening fell, she was feeling much more relaxed. When she had finished her cleaning, she stretched and steeled her resolve, setting off to see Fenris. The day had been harder on him than it had on her. There was a chill in the air, clinging to her limbs so fiercely that by the time she stepped into the trashed foyer, she had her arms folded over her chest to keep in as much warmth as she could. No sooner had she stepped inside when Varric and Aveline - the former exchanging pleasantries while the latter looked impossibly exhausted - passed her on their way out.

Fenris was seated before the fireplace, staring off into the air on the other side of the room. He didn't look over when she sat down across from him, but she knew why her companions had been there. Aveline had mentioned to her before that she had spent much time and effort keeping Fenris' mansion away from the eyes of the guard, but now her superiors were growing increasingly suspicious. Hawke figured they had been trying to convince him to find more suitable accommodations, now that there was no one to contest his freedom.

Instead of speaking, she sat patiently, letting the warmth of the fire radiate towards her until he was ready.

He let out a sigh. "They don't understand. Yes, I am free. Danarius is dead. Yet... it doesn't feel like it should."

"Not feeling relieved?"

"I would have thought so. I thought that if I didn't need to run and fight to stay alive, I would finally be able to live as a free man does. But how is that? My family is dead and I have nothing... not even an enemy."

Hawke gave him a smile. "You have nothing tying you down or holding you back. The future is yours to decide."

He let out a small hum. "An interesting thought. It's just... difficult to overlook the stain that magic has left on my life. If I seem bitter, it's not without cause." His mood seemed somewhat less dour. "Perhaps it is time to move forward. I just... don't know where that leads. Do you?"

"Wherever it leads," she answered, heart racing, "I'd like to see it with you..." What would she do, if he left her behind? If he chose to leave Kirkwall without her, she didn't think she could handle it. Fenris was too precious to her, too close to her heart. To feel the pain of losing him forever... she didn't know if she would survive. She was strong because he was there by her side, watching her back.

He smiled, his rare beautiful smile that shone like the sun, the smile she'd only ever seen him give to her. "That is my hope as well." There was a moment of silence, Fenris looking down at his feet before he spoke again, serious with a tinge of sadness. "We've... never discussed what happened between us three years ago..."

Her heart pounded against her chest. Three long years... his presence in her life had been the only thing holding her together during that time. She loved him so deeply that words could never begin to describe. That single night of passion had been so filled with love for him that she hadn't even considered anyone else. Men had approached her countless times to court her, but she turned each and every one of them down. She had spent three years alone, content with only the memories of him to sustain her. It hadn't been easy, to say the least. "You didn't want to talk about it." He hadn't, but she glanced down at the cloth on his arm, wondering what he would say.

"I felt like a fool," he muttered, the pain in his eyes palpable. "I thought it better if you hated me. I deserve no less... but it isn't better." He stood up, making his way closer to her. 'That night... I remember your touch as if it were yesterday." His words echoed her sentiments, and she fell more in love with him by the second. 'I should have asked for your forgiveness long ago. I hope you'll forgive me now."

Hawke wanted nothing more than to forgive him, hold him in her arms and give him everything, but she needed to know. "I need to understand why you left, Fenris." She wanted to hear, from his lips, exactly what he felt, before she could assuage all her doubts.

"I've thought about the answer a thousand times." The wordless anguish spoke to the truth tucked away in his heart. "The pain, the memories it brought up... It was too much. I was a coward." The last word came out in a growl. "If I could go back, I would stay; tell you how I felt."

"What would you have said?" she asked, her voice hitching in her throat.

Slowly, he leaned close to her, close enough that she could feel his breath waft across her nose. Even after three years, she remembered that feeling and it built up in her core like a knot. He was close enough that she could just lean forward and kiss him. "'Nothing could be worse than the thought of living without you'."

For a second, all she could hear was her heartbeat hammering in her ears. She thought she might pass out if she waited another moment longer. "You've always had my forgiveness, Fenris. Always."

He gave her another smile, slightly crooked, as if nothing in the world was better. "If there is a future to be had, I will walk into it gladly at your side."

Unable to contain herself any longer, Hawke stood up and lept into his arms, his expectant lips meeting hers in a moment of immeasurable bliss. Once more, cradled safely in his arms, feeling the warmth of his palm on her back of her neck and the softness of his lips against hers, there was nothing anyone could do that would drag her away from him. The three years between them melted away, leaving only them in the whole world. Their breath mingled, their tongues wrapped together, his taste overpowering her senses, was all she could have asked for and more.

Their embrace tightened and she felt him nibble on her lip hungrily, eliciting a moan. She could feel his heat through her armor, felt her body shudder in its need for him, to find completion in him that she sorely missed. Slowly, they worked through their undressing, stopping to pepper kisses along each others' exposed skin. He tasted of sweat, salty against her lips, but she didn't care, tracing his markings with gentle kisses. He planted his kisses along each inch of her skin, occasionally giving her a light nip with his teeth that made her moan and shiver. Each piece of clothing was discarded on the floor haphazardly, their desire for each other growing more intense.

When he exposed her breasts to the open air, the sensitive flesh began to tingle of cold, each mound feeling stiff in its need to be touched. Fenris kissed his way down her shoulders and gently took one nipple between his lips, his tongue rolling over it. She gasped, her core shaking, and her hips bucked against his abdomen. He chuckled. "I'll not make you wait longer than is needed," he breathed down her stomach, only making her shudder more. Maker, his voice was beautiful. As they discarded the last few vestiges of their clothing, Fenris pulled her down, laying her on the floor underneath him. The floor was cold, sending a deep chill through her that was mitigated only by the heat between them.

She took a moment to admire him. To her eyes, he was breathtaking every time she saw him; his lean form, talled and toned, the lyrium just below his skin accentuating each curve of his muscles as he moved them. The smell of his skin, the low rumble in his chest as he kissed her, the feel of his slim fingers burning lines down her sides and up her legs... Even the way strands of his silvery hair stuck to his forehead with sweat was just as beautiful as she remembered it and even more, each memory renewed and revived with each touch. She moaned, hips rocking as he dragged his fingers up the inside of her thighs, feeling the wetness that had grown there. He slowly rubbed circles around her opening, making her vision blur, pressing kisses along her thighs until he carefully slid two of his fingers inside her.

The waves of pleasure as he felt around inside her, pressing up against her walls, nearly brought her to the edge, her breathy groans making her vision swim. She dragged her nails across the floor, if only to keep herself in place, her back arching as she rolled her hips against his hand, every fiber of her being demanding him. Again, he chuckled, withdrawing his fingers with agonizing slowness, licking her juices from his hand. "Fenris, don't... _tease_ me," she hissed, glaring halfheartedly at him. All he did was shake his head and kiss her, his hardness throbbing against her thigh, feeling its way towards her.

Her back arched as he entered her, her fingers clinging to his back as her insides realigned themselves to his shape. She had remembered this feeling, the burning heat that seared away all her fears, once more feeling _whole_ with him. He filled her, moulding her insides to his purposes, making her undoubtedly his, her legs hooked hungrily around his hips as he slid all the way in and stopped. She relished in the feeling, their hearts pounding against each other, lines of sweat rolling down his chiseled muscles, hitting the deepest part of her. A rumble passed form his chest to hers and he started moving, starting with small, measured bursts of pleasure that gradually descended into the lovemaking of someone who hungered for their partner. It was rougher than their last time, her back scraping along the loose tiles on the floor, but in that moment it was him and her and _Maker, was she enjoying every second of it_.

They hit their stride and then released together, causing her to wail in pleasure as he spilled out inside her, thick and warm and utterly hers, her legs quivering around him in desperation even though he made no signs of moving. He brought her down with sweet kisses, whispering words of love in her ear - even some in Tevene that she could only guess the meanings of. When he finally withdrew, leaving her wholly content, he pulled her into his arms and cradled her, planting kisses on top of her head, leaving her to gently kiss along his neck.

"Thank you, Hawke..." he whispered, his breath lightly ruffling her hair, giving her a little squeeze in his arms. "for everything you've given me..."

Hawke smiled against his collar. "You can call me by my first name if you like, even if it's only when it's just us... And Fenris?"

"Yes, Marian?"

"Next time, let's not make love on the floor."

His laughter rumbled in his chest as he nuzzled into her hair and she listened to the beat of his heart, knowing it was where she belonged.


	11. Kisses (His)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "Stop saying things that make me want to kiss you."

Fenris had no idea exactly why they were helping out an assassin fleeing other assassins, but work was work and Hawke was the one in charge. If she had a good enough reason, then he'd follow her, no questions asked. Idly, he nudged one of assassins-made-corpses with his foot. Satisfied that the man was dead, he shuffled over to where Hawke was, sorting things around in her pack.

"Just about done, Fenris, " she muttered, not looking up from her arranging. "Let me talk to our... 'acquaintance' and we'll be heading back."

He glanced over at the elf in question. "You trust him?"

"No, but if Anders said he helped the Hero of Ferelden, I'm not inclined to find myself as his enemy."

He grunted, still disliking the situation. Fenris had to admit, the other elf was skilled in combat, but that only made him uneasy. He was so... free with his compliments, especially to Hawke. As much as he hated thinking of people like possessions - having been one himself - the thought of someone trying to steal Hawke's affections away from him made his skin crawl. Beside him, Hawke chuckled. "What's so funny?"

"You're jealous."

"I'm not."

She looked up at him, smirking. "You know I don't buy that for a second."

"He's... I feel like I'm being mocked," he grumbled back, feeling blood rush to his head. He was embarrassed, so he kept his voice down. "How easily he says those things... it's unfair."

Another chuckle. Hawke stood up. "You have to stop doing that."

"What?" Her comment had come from nowhere, leaving him confused. What had he done? She didn't sound upset with him, making her words even more confusing.

"Saying things that make me want to kiss you."

She was smiling at him, the sweet smile that looked as natural on her face as the sun did in the sky, and he couldn't help but plant a soft, chaste kiss on her forehead. Maker, she was much better at flirting than he was, but he was glad he didn't have to worry over her. She was the one thing in the world he wanted and she was more than happy to be his.

"Your face might crack if you smile, so be careful!" Merrill shouted over to them, breaking the silence of their moment together. Fenris felt his ears heat up. Damn blood mage, mocking him.

Suddenly, he felt Hawke's lips on his cheek, her smile brushing against his skin. "Come on," she giggled, "let's go." Shaking his head, he followed after her, just happy to be by her side. He knew walking back to Kirkwall was going to be a conversation he wanted to avoid. It was going to be a long day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If anyone has a prompt they want me to write for these adorable dorks, leave a comment and let me know.


	12. Listening (Hers)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: It's just that he has a great reading voice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gideon Emery is a chunk of this character's appeal and I love him for it

There was nothing more satisfying to Hawke than listening to Fenris speak. He didn't speak too often, but when he did, it sent her heart fluttering. Deep and expressive, with a slight growl to it when he got mad and a whine when he got emotional, it was the most beautiful sound in the world, made all the more so because of the things he said with it. Things like "I love you", that made her heart melt and long to be held in his arms. It was one of the many things that drew her to him and kept her there. It was something he did without thinking, without realizing just what it did to her, and it was wholly unfair.

So, she decided to even the playing field a little.

One evening, she had him sit next to her sitting room, close to the fireplace, and read aloud. Fenris' capacity for reading had exploded in three years - which she was proud of - helped by the nearly-overflowing shelves she let him borrow freely from. Under the pretext of checking up on his skills, she had picked a particularly involved book from one of the shelves, taking no care to the subject matter or who had even purchased it, and handed it to him once he was seated.

He eyed the tome with one brow raised. "Are you sure about this?"

"Of course. I've no doubt in your abilities, but even so, checking on it every so often is important. My father did this same exercise with me every so often." She carefully seated herself close to him, making sure not to crowd him. Despite how close they had become, he was still a little picky about being touched.

He narrowed his eyes at her before flipping the book open and beginning to read. Within seconds, Hawke had closed her eyes, lulled by the tone of his voice. Maker, did he have a beautiful reading voice. He went through each word clearly, pausing to mutter out syllables with each new one he encountered, but beyond that, his reading was focused, as though his voice belonged to a scholar rather than a former slave. Occasionally, he stopped after pronouncing a word, repeating it a few times under his breath as if memorizing it for future use. Slowly, the words began blurring to her ears, just listening to the cadence of his voice until suddenly she felt something warm bump against the side of her head.

Fenris chuckled as she opened her eyes, finding that she had slid sideways and hit her head on his shoulder. "Falling asleep?"

She blushed, sitting up and turning slightly so he wouldn't see. "I wasn't..." she began, but a yawn broke in mid-sentence. She frowned when she saw Fenris' crooked smile, even though it made her blush more. "Okay, maybe I am a little tired. What of it?"

"I figured you would be, Your choice in subject matter made it seem like you wanted to sleep." He held out the book for her and she took it, noticing the title for the first time. 'Dictionary of the Common Tongue'. She felt her face heat up, this time in embarrassment. Internally, she groaned. Of all the books she could have picked out, she had randomly grabbed the most dry book ever written and asked him to read it to her. Of course she'd fall asleep. He chuckled again and she knew he saw her blushing.

She bumped her forehead against the book, groaning over her own stupidity before she put it down. She opened her mouth to explain but decided against it, knowing it would sound ridiculous out loud, despite how good the idea had been in her head. Instead, she just folded her arms across her chest and sat back, scowling in spite of herself.

Fenris leaned closer to her, draping his arm across her shoulders and pulling her to his side in a half-hug. She peeked up at him through her bangs and found him in a pleasant mood, peering down at her with the corners of his lips turned up slightly. Her heart flew: she could admit, she enjoyed him _not_ talking as much as she liked listening to him. Seeing him smile made her smile until she broke out into a giggle. What was she, some bashful maiden? The fearless Champion of Kirkwall, one step away from batting her eyelashes coyly. Varric would have laughed her out of the room.

"Marian?" She was broken out of her reverie as Fenris adjusted his hold on her. "Did you perhaps... want some company?"

Hawke blinked in confusion for a moment before she turned bright red. He wanted to...? She hadn't exactly been planning something like that, especially since three _bloody_ years had passed between their first and second times. Certainly, he was a grown man and had his needs, but she had waited for three years and she had assumed he'd found some means if relieving himself during that time. She wasn't sure she could handle that much... _attention_.

He noted her expression and his eyes widened, muttering a curse in Tevene before averting his eyes and blushing in return. "I didn't-! I mean, I..." he cursed again. "I didn't mean it like that... unless you..."

"No! Oh, I mean, I wouldn't if you were offering, but, um..." She could feel herself descending into nonsensical blabbering and lightly bit her tongue to stop herself. "You mean, just... staying the night, yes? With me?"

He managed a slight nod of his head, still pointedly avoiding looking at her. Again, she felt almost too bashful to look at him. The fact that he was offering his company to her at all pleased her, knowing how touchy he was being too close to other people. She wasn't exactly known for being the neatest sleeper, either: Bethany had complained a few times about being accidentally smacked when they shared a bed while living with Uncle Gamlen, and more than once in her life had Hawke found herself waking up in a bundle of blankets on the floor. All of her companions knew of her sleeping habits as well. Fenris offering this was more than a little shocking.

She managed a nod of her own and began making her way back to her room. Fenris coasted along behind her like a ghost, only stopping when she did, making his way over to the fireplace as she shut the door. There was a bit of a sour expression on his face, probably remembering the last time he had stood there, internally cursing his own foolishness. She gave him a light tap on the shoulder, pulling him back to reality. "What matters most is that you're here now."

"I recalled how it felt, leaving. The emptiness... I would never wish that feeling on anyone. Even the feeling of freedom was hollow, but not quite as... unsettling." He took her hand and held it gently to his cheek. "This warmth... this is happiness, to me."

Hawke laid a delicate kiss on his lips, barely brushing them with her own. There wasn't a need for words; she felt the same warmth, not of body, but of soul. Together, they were more complete than they had been apart and more than they would ever be if they parted again. They were both awkward and hard-headed and thoroughly incapable of developing such a relationship, but she only loved him more for it. Rather than speak, she went about dressing for bed, removing her more formal wear to put on her nightclothes, cleaning off her face in a basin on her desk. She was keenly aware of Fenris watching her, his gaze dancing over her like a light spring breeze until she finally flopped herself onto her bed and began fussing around with the blankets. When he hadn't moved, she looked to him and patted the bed beside her. Hesitantly, he came over and sat on the edge of the bed, looking downward.

"You're sure... I can, like this?" he asked suddenly.

She smiled. "As long as it's not armor, it can stay on. Whatever you feel comfortable with."

Finally, after much deliberation and cajoling, she manged to drag him under the blankets next to her, everything but his tunic and pants off to one corner of the room. He shifted uncomfortably. "You know," she breathed, flirty, "somehow I find it strange that it's easier to get you in my bed the less clothes we have on." With a grumble, he pulled her into his arms and held her fiercely to his form, burying his face in her hair. Heart racing, she snuggled into his hold, careful not to hurt him, and settled in, listening to his heartbeat soothe her to sleep. This, too, was his voice, she mused.


	13. Accommodations (His)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "I don't care where I'm sleeping, as long as it's with you." Following up from the last chapter.

Fenris woke up, unusually rested, with a feeling that something was wrong: not unpleasant by any means, but extremely strange. It was too warm, too soft, too peaceful. Opening his eyes slightly, he started, waking up in a room he wasn't familiar with. A thousand questions began racing through his mind before a soft, unmistakable groan caught his ears and everything came back to him. Beside him, Hawke's sleeping form was huddled up under the blankets, having been only slightly disturbed by his movement. She was _exceptionally_  cute like this, her disheveled hair sticking to the sides of her face, freckles showing, her mouth half open with drool. One shoulder of her nightclothes had slipped slightly, her soft skin nicked with small white scars from healed combat injuries. No one would look upon her in this state and call her 'ladylike', let alone presentable, but he relished in seeing this side of her, seeing her sleep peacefully without having to worry about waking up for watch or bandit attacks.

Instead of getting up, as he was inclined to do when he woke up on his own, he laid back down beside her, watching her sleeping face with a smile. A strand of her hair drifted down across her nose, making her face scrunch up, so he brushed it up off her face and her lips turned up in a tiny contented smile. These little things were each a part of her, a part he had never seen before, more of her for him to love. He cursed himself internally: he could have had this three years ago if it weren't for his own foolishness. He had wanted to protect her - from his past, from himself - but she didn't want protecting. She wanted _him_.

A knock at the bedroom door made him jump and woke Hawke from her slumber, lazily rubbing her eyes before glancing over at Fenris, blinking a few times before her brain caught up with her. Another few blinks and she smiled, bright like the morning sun coming in through the windows behind him. She was still a mess, however, which made him smile back. Never 'ladylike', his Hawke, but sweet.

There was a knock again before the door opened a crack. "Mistress, you-eep!" Orana began, peaking in slightly before turning bright red and snapping the door shut. Her hurried footsteps sounded down the stairs.

Hawke groaned. "Not the wake-up call I was hoping for," she grumbled sarcastically, more to herself. With a stretch, she got up out of bed, rooting around through the clothes she had discarded the night before. "I'll go calm her down before she jumps to conclusions," she said, eyeing him sheepishly. "She was probably waking me for breakfast, so go down and help yourself."

Fenris let out a soft hum. In a way, he could see the misunderstanding the girl had come to. Seeing her mistress waking up with a man in her bed, a man she knew, accidentally walking in on them... it didn't help that his tunic was nearly the same colour as his skin. "Is that okay?" he asked. He was hungry, but he felt uncomfortable butting in where he didn't belong.

"Of course it is. There's plenty of food and Maker knows I won't be eating it all." She had pulled her robe on over her nightclothes, knotting the belt with a bit of fumbling. "I'll be there shortly, so help yourself." With a brief flash of a smile at him, she left the room in a lazy jog, leaving him to gather himself together. It was more lively than he was used to his mornings being, but he could smell that food from the bed and his stomach gave a rumble that left no room for debate. Opting to leave his armor where it was, he followed the smell of food to the table. As Hawke had said, there was plenty of food, freshly baked rolls giving off little wafts of steam, a teaset giving off a pleasing aroma, and a small stack of steaks filling a number of plates. One woman could never eat this much food, even for a woman as active as Hawke was. So how...?

An excited bark was all the answer he needed as the mabari bounded into the room, also lured in by the smell of food. It seemed surprised momentarily, not seeing it's master, but was familiar enough with Fenris to not attack him on sight. Instead, the warhound reared up and put it's paws on the table, tongue lolling out in the direction of a plate of steak. Fenris hesitated, unsure of whether to feed it or not, when Hawke strolled into the room, picked a steak up off the plate and tossed it. The mabari jumped, catching the steak between it's teeth before settling down to chew on it's breakfast.

She trotted over to her mabari, stroking it behind the ears the way it liked. The hound barked happily and licked her bare toes, making her laugh. With that, she turned her attention to Fenris, and he noticed the stack of missives in her hand, as thick as a fist, that she must have been looking at when she walked in. He raised an eyebrow at them and she sighed. "Kindling." She tossed them into the fireplace, watching them to make sure they burned before wiping her hands on her robe and sitting down next to him. They were sitting closer than might have been acceptable, but neither of them seemed to care.

"Not like you to toss requests," he said, taking a steak of his own off another plate.

She let out a sigh, unintentionally spraying crumbs from the roll she had unceremoniously stuffed in her mouth. It took her a moment to finish chewing. "Those weren't job requests. They were requests for my presence at parties." She huffed, taking a bite of her own steak. "A bunch of stiff rich people keeping up their appearances or lords hoping to court the Champion of Kirkwall to inflate their status."

Fenris felt his chest tighten at the word 'court'. Of course men would be courting her; the Champion of Kirkwall, saviour of the city, most eligible bachelorette in the Free Marches. Men with political power and wealth that could guarantee her a safe and secure future. The thought of men courting her, showering her with compliments and gifts to woo her, the thought of her smiling her brilliant sunny smile at anyone other than him...

Her hand found his wrist. "Fenris, relax. Frankly, I'd rather not get invites like that, but they won't stop sending them. Gets in the way of sorting out my work. Started burning them two years ago."

He blinked, a little in awe. "Two years ago?"

She nodded, stuffing another roll in her mouth and washing it down with tea he hadn't even see her pour. "I spent the first year writing polite letters of decline, but they didn't stop, so I burn them. Keeps my toes warm during breakfast." She threw her mabari another steak.

"Why...?" The question was through his lips before he realized he knew the answer.

"No use going to stuffy parties to let pompous lords fawn over me when I have no intention of letting them court me. Not when my affections already belong to someone else." She gave him a look from the corner of her eye, the edges of her lips turning up in a knowing smile as she took another sip of tea.

He felt a pang of guilt. "Three years..."

"I happen to have the patience of Andraste if I'm waiting on something I want, especially if I know for certain I'm getting it," she muttered smugly, "and when I've made up my mind on something, it would take the Maker himself moving mountains to make me change it."

His heart jumped. She had waited patiently for him, waited for him to come to terms with his own foolishness, and hadn't budged on the matter until he had asked for her forgiveness. He _most certainly_ did not deserve this woman, let alone deserve to even have her in his life. Yet here she was, turning down a stable future for him, inviting him to share her bed, having breakfast with him as casually as if it were a daily occurrence... letting him make love to every inch of her body without regret... How in Andraste's name had he managed to win this woman's affections?

Sensing that the topic had been resolved, she moved on. "By the way, one of those letters was from Aveline, asking me to do something about your living quarters. Again. She wrote that she's surprised you haven't moved in with me yet. You wouldn't object to that, would you?"

"Living with you? Here?"

"Mhm."

He was a little uncomfortable with the idea of leaving. He'd been squatting in that mansion for six years, so long that he had finally felt like he had found a place to stop running from. On the other hand... "Would you object to sharing your bed with me?"

A blush spread across her cheeks, freckles seeming to darken. "Maker, Fenris, asking a question like that... You already know the answer." A gleeful smile had found its way to her face. That was a yes.

"I don't care where I'm living, if I get to wake up to you every morning." He had never felt more at ease than he had been watching her sleep. He brushed a few strands of hair that were stuck to her cheek out of the way, running his thumb along her jawline. She shivered in satisfaction.

"Good, because I already told Orana that she's to expect to see you on a daily basis. Even in my room. Just keep in mind that I've given her run of the upkeep on this place, so if she tells you not to make a mess, you pay her that courtesy." She laid a soft kiss into his palm. "Welcome home, Fenris."

He had never felt welcome anywhere before, but he was glad that he was finally home.


	14. Guilt (Hers)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Family comes first.

Sitting there uncomfortably, Hawke was beginning to regret all the trouble she had gone through. Getting to the Gallows was the easy part. Getting the templars to believe 'no, I'm not consorting with apostates (even thought that was a blatant lie) to free the Circle mages, I just want to visit my sister' was harder. Getting the templars to let her have a private conversation with her sister had taken her pulling the Champion of Kirkwall card out of her proverbial helm, which she hated doing. The hardest part, by far, was actually getting Bethany to talk to her.

They were sitting together at a table in a secluded corner of a rather large room, the outer door guarded by templars. Hawke had grown up fearing templars, but she had realized not long into her stay that a great many of them were just doing their jobs. The bad ones were usually higher up in the ranks. There was no conversation going on between the two sisters, which Hawke had feared. She loved Bethany and their first few years apart had been filled with warm letters of goings on in each of their lives. When their mother died, Hawke had been in such a depressed state that she hadn't even written to Bethany to tell her. Their next contact was in the burning streets of Kirkwall amid the screams of people running in terror. The exchange had been cold, to say the least, and Bethany hadn't returned any of her letters after that. Three years. They had spent every day of their lives together until six years ago, and they hadn't said a word to each other in three years, not even a written word. She adored Bethany and was torn apart to be without her, but Bethany didn't seem to feel the same anymore. Now, she was looking despondently out the window, chin resting in one palm, making a point not to look at her sister.

Hawke shifted uncomfortably in her chair. Someone could have coughed and she'd be up in an instant, sword at the ready, she was so wound up. There was malice in her sister's eyes, and she blamed herself for it. "So, how have you been, Beth?" she asked, trying to sound cheerfully and managing to make it sound as forced as it was.

Bethany let out a quiet huff. Okay, things could be better. She knew her sister well enough to interpret that.

"Right." She let out a sigh. "Look, Beth. I..." She stopped and bit her lip. Why had she come here, unannounced? What exactly had been her motivation? She hadn't dragged herself out of bed (and out of the warm embrace of her new roommate) because she liked hanging around persecuted mages and uptight templars. How had she managed to convince herself to make the trip and verbally joust her way into a meeting with Bethany when she couldn't even figure out what she wanted to say? "Sorry."

"What are you apologizing for this time?" Bethany's words were sharp, angry. "For what happened to Mother? For not telling me sooner? For showing up out of nowhere while city burned and then running off again to be a hero? Or maybe you're sorry that the new Champion hasn't picked a side in this situation after three years. If not that, maybe you're the one who sicced that ogre on Carver..."

It was like a slap across the face. "Beth, you know-"

"No, I don't know!" Bethany was on her feet, hands slammed down on the table, glaring at Hawke with the menace reserved for an enemy. "I don't know you anymore! Marian, you've changed. It's like I don't know you... like I never knew you. You couldn't even tell me about Mother..."

Hawke opened her mouth to reply but no words came to her. Maybe she had changed. She could never tell. Bethany and Carver had always kept her head pointing in the right direction. She was always the big sister, defender of her siblings. Without them, what kind of person had she become. Was she even... Would her father even recognize the person she had become? The thought brought a sting to her eyes, her vision blurring.

Bethany sat down, the harshness of her words sinking in. "I'm sorry, Marian. I didn't... Things have been difficult these past three years. I didn't mean to take it out on you."

"It's alright," Hawke sniffled, wiping the unshed tears away with the back of her hand. "Things have been tough for everyone. I can't blame you for thinking I should do something about all this... mess, but this is a powder keg waiting to go off, and I'd rather not be the spark that lights it." She managed a reassuring smile. "Pretty selfish of me, huh? Custodian of Kirkwall, ready to clean up the messes of others..."

Bethany put her hand on Hawke's reassuringly. "You're doing what you're good at. I stopped counting the number of times you bailed Carver and I out of trouble. You'll do what's best when the time comes."

"I'm glad I came to see you, Beth. It's not the same without you."

"I know," Bethany smirked. "You must be dreadfully alone, that big house all to yourself."

Hawke felt warmth flood her cheeks, finding sudden interest in the grain of the wooden table. "Not exactly alone..."

She heard Bethany gasp. "Marian Hawke, are you telling me you've been courted? I'm not surprised that men would be chasing after the Champion, but that you _let yourself be courted_? Who are you and what have you done with my sister?" Bethany joked, giddy. "Well? Who is it? I can't imagine..."

Hawke blanched a bit. "Fenris..."

"Fenris... that elf you were so smitten with?"

"I wasn't...!" It was Hawke's turn to snap at her sister. "I wasn't _smitten_ with him, Beth."

"You were ogling him the moment you saw him."

" _I was not ogling him_ ," she hissed back through gritted teeth. She could feel the blood rushing to her head, her face hot. "I was just..." She shook her head to clear her thoughts. "Nevermind what I was doing. Simply put, Fenris is living with me now."

The smirk had returned to Bethany's face. "How did he court you?"

"There... wasn't much courting involved..." Hawke mumbled.

Another, louder gasp of shock from Bethany. "You mean you let him bed you? Just like that?"

"It isn't exactly an uncommon practice in Kirkwall," Hawke retorted. "Not that that was what it was..."

"Details."

Hawke squirmed under Bethany's expectant gaze. "Things... happened, and... I, I kissed him... and next thing I know, he's on top of me in bed..."

"Was he any good?"

" _Bethany_!"

Bethany was smirking again. "It's a valid question, sister."

"He..." Her face felt like it was going to melt off. "I haven't exactly got a frame of reference here... He makes me feel incredible, so I guess... yes?"

"And he's been courting you for how long, three years?"

Hawke buried her face in her hands. "More like three weeks."

"And Mother never knew..."

"She knew. He, uh... bedded me three years ago..."

This time Bethany let out a sigh. "Marian, you are not making any sense. Talk to me."

Hawke folded her arms on the table, taking an interest in the grain again. "Things were complicated for him three years ago, still being on the run. After that night, we... didn't speak of it again for three years. Kind of an... unspoken promise that we wouldn't see each other again in that capacity until things cleared up. Then Mother... the thing with Mother happened and the Qunari and suddenly three years passed."

"And things aren't complicated now." It wasn't a question. Bethany mirrored her sister's posture, smiling patiently. Having her sister to talk to about things really calmed Hawke's nerves, letting her focus.

"His former master showed up and tried to take him back. We killed him..." Hawke felt her heart ache. "Fenris' sister too."

"He has a sister?"

" _Had_. She sold him out, Beth. Sold him out to become a magister. She begged me to stop him but I let him kill her, Beth. I let him kill her." Hawke buried her face in her arm. "I thought of you, Beth. I saw what she had done and I thought of you and I could never sell you out like she did. It was awful and I felt awful but I thought about how I could never have done something like that to you." She knew she was babbling, but she couldn't stop herself. "Did I do the right thing?"

Bethany laid a hand softly on Hawke's, a reassuring smile finding her lips. "You did. Remember, family first. That's what we grew up on. You and Carver never let anyone know my secret, no matter what, and I've never been more grateful. You did the right thing, Marian. I know Mother would be proud of you. She'd be happy that you've got someone you love, and Father would be, too."

Hawke fought back sniffles. It wasn't often that she cried: Bethany and Fenris were the only ones alive who had ever seen her crying before, and she wanted to keep it that way. She was glad, finally, that she had come to see Bethany. Family was important, she knew, and when it came down to it, she knew she would keep it that way.


	15. Worth (Hers)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A little change in perspective can give something simple new meaning.

The invitation had been just like the others, but none of the others had come attached to a package. Hawke was reluctant to accept the gift, knowing she couldn't see herself going, until she opened it. It was a dress, in her colour, far too beautiful and lovely for her to even think of wearing it. In her room, wearing only her smallclothes, she held it up in front of her, facing the mirror to get a better look at it. The floor-length gown was a brilliant shade of her favorite red, soft and silky against her bare skin. Unlike the rest of the garment, the sleeves were lace in the same colour, leaving little bits of her skin peaking through as she held it along her arm. It was far too beautiful for her, and she grumpily tossed it on the bed to look herself over.

Staring back at her was a woman who was far removed for the life of wearing fancy clothing. Her short hair was unmanageable at best, choppy to keep it out of her face in combat. Her arms and legs were well-muscled, her shoulders squared nervously, but her waist was a little too wide, curving too gently into her hips to have much of a figure. White healed scars dotted her skin, making it look darker, and her freckles stood out too much against her face. She closed her eyes and muttered a curse, something she had heard Fenris say when he was particularly upset, without knowing the meaning.

"Your accent is terrible." His voice startled her, making her jump and nearly trip over her own feet as she turned around. He was there behind her, hands finding her shoulders to steady her. He motioned over to the clump of fabric on the bed with his eyes. "Is this the subject of your ire?"

She let out a sigh. "Not that I intend to accept such an invitation, with or without the dress. I just... I look at myself and I'm not-"

He placed a kiss on her lips to silence her. "Don't. Don't think for a second that you're not beautiful. You and I both know better."

"Fenris..." She buried her face in the fabric of his tunic, glad to feel his reassuring warmth against her skin. "I'm not... accustomed to wearing things like that. Besides, it probably won't fit."

"Have you tried it on?"

She hadn't. Before she could even open her mouth to make up an excuse, he had the dress in his hands and was carefully pulling her into it, his fingers gliding along her skin as delicately as the fabric. The garment fit near-perfectly, breathable and light while hugging her form with the right amount of firmness. She barely even had time to register how comfortable she felt in it when she felt Fenris lacing it up in the back, his movements deft. "How did you do that?" she asked when he finished, tying the ends in a bow at the nape of her neck.

Fenris' lips dipped into a scowl. "Hadriana made me help her dress for parties."

Hawke felt an uneasiness rise in her chest. "Fenris, I'm sorry. I didn't-" She hadn't meant to dredge up unpleasant memories for him and she didn't want him to dwell on it.

He cut her off with another kiss, crooked smile in place. "I did this because I wanted to, not because I was ordered. Besides, you're far more beautiful. Look for yourself." He motioned towards the mirror.

She nearly startled herself, catching a glimpse of her own reflection. The woman before her was barely recognizable, so elegant and absolutely unlike anything she had ever been. The Champion of Kirkwall, clad in form-hugging crimson, the skirts drifting daintily around her legs to tickle her ankles, looking like a proper lady. It even managed to make her hair seem manageable instead of unkempt. She turned slightly, looking at her profile. It was much more slimming than armor, she mused, patting down the skirt to get a better idea of how it changed her figure.

Behind her, Fenris mocked a bow. "Might I have this dance, milady?"

"Dance?" She was barely able to get over that she could _move_ in this thing. "There's no music."

"Does there need to be?"

"I can't dance," she conceded.

"Then we can take it slowly." He pulled her into his arms, laying one of her hands on his shoulder. He took her other hand in his and, holding her by the waist, began guiding her in the simplest of dances. They were only moving side-to-side, shuffling their feet along the floor clumsily, but Hawke felt her heart racing in her chest. Their closeness was intoxicating, from his delicate hold on her waist to they way their fingers intertwined, from the occasional brush of their toes together to the effortless synchronization of their steps.

She leaned into his hold, resting her head on his chest, basking in his presence as he continued leading their dance, pressing his face into her hair. "Fenris?"

"Marian."

"You know I'm still not going to that party, right?"

"I never doubted it for a second."

"Then why...?"

She felt his lips curl into a smile against her scalp. "Because I've never seen you in a dress."

That was a good enough reason for her.


	16. Visions (His)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Fade demons have a way of pitting you against yourself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No one likes the Fade. DAO had the confusing as hell Fade and DA2 has the inexplicable barrel shuffling Fade. What do those barrels even do?!

He knew he was in the Fade. It reeked of magic, ethereal and crisp, just like the last time he had been there: having nearly cleaved Hawke in two then. The intense energy it exuded made his skin crawl. He was standing in the abandoned mansion where he had made his home, looking far cleaner and more organized than he remembered it. What was he even doing here? Only mages ended up in the Fade.

"Quite so, little Fenris." The voice that greeted his thoughts made his breath catch in his throat. It was a voice he had hoped never to hear again. Flinching, he turned around.

"Danarius..." he snarled, catching himself. "No, just a demon... If you're trying to tempt me, you're using the wrong guise to get it."

The Danarius-demon ignored his comments. "Truly, only mages find themselves in the Fade, but with the lyrium under your skin, your connection to this place is just as strong. It took time for your body to become attuned enough to the atmosphere."

Fenris felt a chill run up his spine. "Whatever you want, demon, you're not getting it from me. I'd rather die than let you out through my body."

"Now, now, my pet, no need to be foolish." A very smug smile formed on the Danarius-demon's lips. "You'll upset your mistress terribly."

"Don't you dare talk about Hawke! She's not my mistress. I don't belong to anyone!" Fenris snapped.

"Is that so? How blissful such ignorance must be. She is quite skilled, to have gained such mastery over you as I could not, and with such ease. Poor Fenris, unable to see how tightly she has you wound around her fingers."

"Shut up!" Fenris, unarmed, lashed out, throwing a punch that Danarius easily dodged. "You know nothing about her!"

"It is unnecessary; all women are temptresses, preying on the emotions of men. Where I could not cow you into submission, she easily commands you with her wiles. What had she given you that has not been of benefit to her? What has she asked of you that does not fall in line with her own goals? And you, pet that you are, ceed to her whims."

Fenris' stomach lurched. He couldn't believe a single thing that was being said. Hawke wasn't controlling him. He loved her. She was everything to him... because he had nothing left. His sister was dead. He had wanted to kill her... but Hawke had done nothing to stop him. So many times had he changed his mind about things he had wanted to do because of her. Even that first night together; he had only gone to apologize for his outburst, but Hawke had stopped him, kissed him, lured him into bed with her... No! He couldn't think those kinds of things. "Hawke isn't like that!" he yelled back.

"And yet, you speak with doubt," Danarius chided. "But to have been ensnared by her so easily... You are truly fit to be a slave, Fenris, ever at beck and call. You mistress has trained you well."

Somewhere in the back of his mind, Fenris snapped, lunging at Danarius with a growl fit for a beast. This time, Danarius did nothing to evade, collapsing as he was tackled to the floor. The mage was laughing, a sound Fenris could never stand, and so he brought his hands to Danarius' neck, pressing his thumbs into the hollow of his throat. The laughter was replaced with a gagging noise that Fenris relished, watching the mirth in his victim's face be replaced with fear. The man clung to his wrists, trying to pull him off, but he only tightened his grip, pressing harder. He had missed out on this feeling of satisfaction the first time and...

The first time?

With a start, he blinked and found himself staring down at Hawke, her eyes wide with fear and concern, pinned to her bed as Fenris' thumbs cut off her airway. She was clutching his wrists, his skin blue with the glow of lyrium, trying vainly to pull him off, gasping for breaths she didn't have. He blinked a few times before he was able to process that he was _strangling her to death_. He stumbled backward, listening to the loud gasp of Hawke filling her lungs with air, looking down at his hands. They were trembling, slick with sweat, warm from her skin. He had nearly killed her... How? How could he have...

Before Hawke could rasp out a word to stop him, Fenris was gone, his armor and weapon forgotten.


	17. Pain (Hers)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Follow-up to the last chapter.

"This changes everything, Aveline! He nearly killed Hawke!"

"And unless you know where he went, Anders, I'll say it again: This changes nothing. I'm not making him a wanted criminal."

"He didn't go back to his old home, then?"

"No, Varric and I already checked there. They're cleaning up the place, so I'm not surprised there wasn't a trace of him."

"Aveline, are you just going to wait until he shows up again? He could kill her this time!"

"Blondie, turn it down a notch. Don't want the templars streaming in here, do ya?"

"Hawke? Are you feeling alright?"

Hawke looked up at the gentle touch on her shoulder and found Merrill staring at her, eyes wide with concern. She managed a slight nod in reply, but didn't speak. Merril, Aveline, Varric and Anders were all in her sitting room, arguing loudly about what had happened a few hours earlier. After Fenris had bolted off, Orana and Bodhan had sent off letters to her companions, despite Hawke urging them not to. Now, with Anders yelling at Aveline, the woman's calm immutable, Merrill and Varric seated at her sides, Hawke wanted nothing more than to lie back down. Her throat burned despite the healing Anders had given her, making anything other than calm breathing hurt.

She had no idea exactly what had happened to cause Fenris to suddenly attack her. She had been woken up by sudden movement next to her, finding Fenris shaking in some apparent nightmare. When she gently placed her hand on his shoulder, hoping to wake him, he had jumped at her, his eyes narrowed and hazy, his hands closing around her neck. She had struggled, trying to pull him off her, but he was too strong and she couldn't manage to get enough air in her to fight back. Just as her vision had started going dark around the edges, his eyes cleared and filled with horror. She could breathe again. And then he was gone. There had been no sign of him since.

Frankly, she was more worried about Fenris than herself. He had left without his armor or his sword, and if Aveline and Varric hadn't found him in Hightown, it could only mean he was wandering around the rougher parts of Kirkwall with little to defend himself. Normally, she wouldn't have any reason to doubt his ability, but he'd been frantic is his departure, and she couldn't say for sure if he had collected himself enough to counter a situation.

Anders dropped to one knee in front of her, his expression the measured healer rather than the enraged friend. He gently tilted her head up to look at her neck. A wave of healing magic passed through her skin, the bruised muscles relieved of some of their ache. "Try talking now."

"Anders, please don't hurt Fenris if you find him," Hawke rasped out. It still hurt, but she could at least speak again.

"You could have died. He could have killed you, and still you'd protect him?" Anders let out a sigh, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "I really wish you'd reconsider your relationship with him..."

" _Anders_..."

"But if you want us to bring him back, I'll endeavour to do so, unharmed. Not that I can promise that if he puts up a fight. At the least, I'll bring him back in one piece." He stood up. "Take care not to strain your throat with anything. Warm liquids and rest until we get back."

Everyone wished her well and she wished them luck as they headed out the door, beginning their search for Fenris in earnest. Despite what Anders had told her, she had no intention of resting. Wrapping the handkerchief from her armor around her neck, she snuck out the hidden exit to Darktown, making sure no one had spotted her as she made her escape. She had never left the house this way - only entered via it the once - so she made sure to tread carefully, unsure of what might have come to reside there in the past six years.

The only warning she had before she stepped in a trap was a hand on her shoulder, yanking her back before it snapped shut. She blanched slightly, the hands holding her steady, thinking how she wouldn't have been able to pry herself out.

"You could have died alone down here," a familiar voice whispered harshly, echoing her thoughts.

She spun around in shock and relief. "Fenris..."

He silenced her with a finger to her lips, carefully pulling the handkerchief down to look at the bruise on her neck. He grimaced. "What are you doing down here?"

"Looking for you. I was worried!" she croaked out, her throat aching.

He shook his head. "You shouldn't be. You shouldn't even be thinking of me, Hawke. Not after what happened..."

"Are you... angry with me..?" She had gotten used to hearing him call her by name when they were alone. That he wasn't made her heart ache.

"I'm the one who you should be angry with. I'm angry with myself."

"Fenris..." She reached up, trying to comfort him, but he jerked away from her hand, taking a step back. His reaction hurt more than her throat. What had changed? Did he decide he didn't want to be around her anymore? Nothing odd had happened until that morning, so she couldn't be sure, but it hurt. She found herself short of breath, thinking that maybe... just maybe... she had done something to make him hate her. The world spun around her before she pitched forward, vision blurry, stopping abruptly before she hit the ground.

Fenris pulled her back up, steadying her against his chest, his hands grabbing her shoulders roughly. "What do you think you're doing?!"

She tried to think of what to say, but her mind came up blank and she let out a weak sob. That one sob opened the floodgates and she started to cry, shoulders shaking with silent cries that her throat couldn't get out, tears flowing. She hated the thought that she had done something to wrong him, that he didn't love her anymore, and it only made her hate herself. She was pathetic, a failure, alone...

The warmth of Fenris' arms pulled her close. "I'm sorry. Please, stop crying. Please..." He cursed. "I know I hurt you, but please, stop crying."

"I... I don't want... don't want you to... leave me," she gasped out between weak sobs, her chest heaving.

There was a moment of silence, so thick it could be cut with a knife. "Who said I was leaving." Fenris' voice was barely above a whisper, malice rumbling deep as his grip on her tightened.

Hawke felt her tears stop abruptly. "I thought... that you didn't want to be near me anymore..." she muttered, feeling fragile. If her held her any tighter, she was scared she might snap in half. Usually, his strength was reassuring, but right now she felt like a twig.

Again, silence. "Did you want me to leave?"

" _Never_!" she replied, louder than she had intended, craning her neck up to look at him. The injured muscles of her throat throbbed in pain and she yelped as Fenris' lips met hers, the sound muffled by his mouth, his tongue brushing against hers. His taste and smell engulfed her senses blissfully, lovingly, but the increasing lack of air made her head spin and her knees buckled, his arms the only thing keeping her steady.

"Sorry," came his embarrassed mumbled, resting his forehead lightly against her. Frankly, she was just glad he was still here.

* * *

Everyone returned shortly after they had left the hidden passage and Orana had sufficiently fussed over her employer. With a soothing cup of tea in hand, Hawke listened to Fenris recounting the events of his trip into the Fade as Anders finished healing her neck. The pain in her throat was gone, but she didn't feel like eating, her stomach clenched tightly. The story wasn't too difficult to believe, but it left so many questions...

When he finished, Hawke looked to Anders. "Can that really happen? Being pulled into the Fade like that?"

"It's... plausible. Trips into the Fade usually require large quantities of lyrium to be consumed... I think the amount in those markings would be sufficient to facilitate the type of encounter." He looked over at Fenris, frowning. "And with the amount of time you've spent ghosting around the battlefield of late, it could have caused your body to become more attuned to the Fade. The implications, however, are what worries me..."

Fenris returned the frown. "Speak, abomination." Hawke turned a scowl on him before gesturing for Anders to continue.

"As you said, mages are more easily attuned to the Fade, and a demon contacting a mage there would facilitate their entrance to our world. So, what could a demon gain from contacting someone who isn't a mage? From what happened, I think it was using the resources available to get at something they could not interact with." He cast a worrying glance at her. "It's only a theory, mind you, but it's possible the demon was trying to kill you, Hawke."

Everyone exchanged looks of confusion and shock. Hawke was flabbergasted. "What? Why would a demon what to kill me?"

"I have no idea as to the why. I can only speculate to the how, and the evidence points to this. That a demon would go to such lengths, using Fenris as a conduit and using magic to make him think you were someone else, only speaks to the importance of their goal."

"Could it happen again?" Aveline asked, casting a sidelong glance at Hawke and Fenris.

"I doubt it. In this case, the demon had the element of surprise and still Fenris was able to break out of it quickly. Whatever this demon was - or whatever master it was working for - wouldn't try such a risky tactic again, if killing Hawke was their goal."

* * *

By the time the discussions had ended and everyone had headed home, Hawke was exhausted. The day had taken a lot out of her, from almost dying to finding out some demon wanted her dead. She made her way up to her room, intending to get some rest before Orana waylaid her with concern or questions over her meals. Fenris followed her, probably needing the rest as much as she did, and she was glad for his company. It had upset her, hearing that the demon had filled his head with the notion that she was using him. She loved Fenris with all her heart. She would do anything he asked of her. All she wanted was for him to be happy, and hoped that his happiness involved being with her.

When they had finally retreated to the confines of her room, Hawke found herself suddenly pinned between Fenris and the wall, his hands slipping under her clothes to cup her breasts while he danced kisses down her neck. The feeling of his hands was breathtaking, but exhaustion was creeping up on her. "Fenris... do you...?"

He nipped at the bare skin at her collar. "I want you, Marian. You would deny me that?"

"No, but..." She wanted to rest, but... She recalled what the demon had told him, that she only asked of him things that were of benefit to her. She didn't want to deny him anything. She had given herself to him, heart and body, and she didn't want him taking the word of a demon over her own. "Right now?"

He was already roughly pulling off her clothes. " _Right now_."

Before she could even gather her thoughts together, he was already at her entrance, pushing in with irregular forcefulness. She wasn't ready for him. She wasn't anywhere near ready but he was already in and it _hurt_. Her vision blurred and she gasped out in pain. It hurt so much. What was he doing? It hurt and yet he _was still moving_ , slamming her hips back against the wall with each thrust and all of it _hurt_. She managed to bite into the cloth of his tunic, not even noticing that he was still half-dressed, doing her best to fight back her agonized screams from the _aching wrenching tearing pain_ , her nails digging into her palms hard enough to draw blood. It felt like he was turning her inside out, ripping her apart. Hot tears spilled from the corners of her eyes as seconds passed into minutes. It got easier to endure, but her entire lower body flashed between unbearable pain and icy numbness. She couldn't feel anything but the pain.

She was barely hanging on to her consciousness when he found release, dropping her unceremoniously on the end of her bed and burying his face between her breasts as he wound down, pumping every last drop of his seed in her. He withdrew after what felt like an eternity, making Hawke whimper in agony. Her palms were smudged with blood, her fingers red, and she could feel a bruise forming somewhere on her back, but her insides had taken the worst beating, throbbing in time with her heartbeat. Tears kept spilling from her eyes against her will and she felt like she could die, either through pain or exhaustion.

When Fenris finally met her eyes, he looked as pained as she felt. "Marian, I..." He let out a few curses, stumbling back onto his feet. "What have I done..." He looked weary, like he had aged years since that morning. "I can't..." He began to back away.

He was going to leave. Hawke felt her heartbeat stutter and her chest heave. She didn't want him to leave. Without caring for her state, she flung herself at him, her arms catching him at the hips as her legs gave out and she toppled over, pulling him down with her. She was dizzy, from the pain and from the fall, but she clung to him, pressing her face into the bare skin at his navel. "Don't leave. Not again."

"Marian, how many times have I hurt you today? Since I met you? I don't want this, if it means I hurt you." His voice was laden with torment.

She trembled. "Leaving would only hurt more."

He sat up, pulling her into his arms, holding her as if she might shatter. "I love you too much to keep hurting you like this. I can't..."

"'Nothing could be worse than the thought of living without you'," she quoted, blinking to clear her eyes, looking to him with the most seriousness that she could muster. "You told me that. You told me that and I loved you all the more because I feel the same way. I have since the moment I realized I was in love with you. Nothing would hurt me more than trying to live without you. I could never manage that..." She cringed. "I would rather die than live without you."

"Marian, I..."

Hawke shook her head, taking his hand and placing it on her chest, over her heart. "So, if you want to leave... if you really think leaving would be better... Then kill me." He tried to jerk his hand away but she held firm, ignoring the pain in her palm. "I'd rather you crushed my heart to end my life than have you break it by leaving."

"Marian..."

"I'm not saying this because I want you to think I'm keeping you here," she cut in, breaking into sobs. "You're free to decide what you want to do. I just know that I can't do this on my own! I'm not the hero in all the stories people tell of me! I'm weak and scared and I can't even make you happy and-"

The soft tingle of their lips meeting silenced her, his thumb brushing the new tears from her cheeks. All the hunger from before was gone, replaced by the euphoria of his love washing over her battered senses, cleansing like a waterfall. Their hearts beat as one, unrelenting and sincere, melting away all the tension the day had caused between them. "You know by now," he breathed, the words dusting across her lips between kisses, "that being with you makes me happy. It always will."

They kissed and the world around them ceased to matter.

They kissed, until Hawke found herself unable to keep her eyes open. She finally passed out from exhaustion, a smile on her face, knowing he would be there when she awakened. He would be there, always.


	18. Jealousy (His)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The eyes of men are prone to wander when a captivating woman stands before them.

How in the world had she roped him into this?

It had begun one day when they had returned from their daily tasks. Orana had apologetically greeted them at the front door, telling Hawke that she had a guest. She had spent a few hours in the sitting room, playing the gracious hostess, returning to her room late in the evening and proceeding to curl up in Fenris' arms. She didn't seem like she wanted to talk about it, so he hadn't asked, figuring it was none of his business.

The following day, it happened again.

And the next day.

And the next.

Finally, after a week of entertaining different nobles, she had snuggled into his arms and told him she was going to a party. Surprisingly, she asked if he would accompany her. The idea was almost revolting to him, the idea of embarrassing himself in front of all the residents of Hightown; what did a former slave know about attending a high-class party? He had been to such events before, but as Danarius' escort, not a guest. He opened his mouth to tell her that he would be more than willing to escort her, but he remembered the feeling of dread he had felt when she told him about the three years of invitations. Men would be lining up for the chance to court the Champion of Kirkwall.

Fenris had never had anything, being a slave: he had never been allowed to have, to want anything. He couldn't help but feel possessive of Hawke and her affections, the only things in the world that were truly _his_. She was all he had, and he would _never_ let anyone try to take her away from him. So, reluctantly, he had agreed. Hawke had smiled wearily at him, grateful, and placed a kiss along his jawline, promising that it would never happen again.

Now, two nights later, he was walking across Hightown at her side, his toes itching in the shoes he'd been required to wear. Orana had helped him find suitable clothes and help him dress into the complicated, uncomfortable garment, brushing his hair back off his face to make him look more presentable. Despite the layers of fabric clinging to his skin, he felt naked walking around without a weapon, especially with an equally-defenseless Hawke at his side. She looked beautiful, of course, the moonlight making her pale skin seem to glow. She had forgone any kind of make-up, and her hair had been combed and tucked behind her ears. She was wearing the one dress she had, red with lace sleeves, with a dark green woolen cloak to shield her from the cool evening air. Still, she kept close to his side, her fingers intertwined with his, clinging to the arm of his coat to keep her balance. She was wearing ridiculous shoes, the heels adding to her height at the expense of her ability to walk.

He was still uncomfortable with the idea of going to this party with her. He would be an embarrassment to her; the Champion of Kirkwall on the arm of an elf, let alone a former slave. He would get disapproving stares, whispered insults, and possibly cause trouble... but Hawke had insisted. She had even tied the red cloth band around his arm before they left, joking that she didn't want any of the ladies making off with her date. He had looked up at her with a raised brow, but the nervousness in her eyes and the slight tremble of her lower lip told him enough. He let her finish knotting it to his sleeve and kissed her, giving her a smile he knew she'd return.

The mansion she directed him to was noisy, the sound of music and chattering voices permeating out into the street, the obvious goings on of a party inside. They were ushered inside by a servant, who took Hawke's cloak and asked her if her... escort would like to wait in an adjoining room, giving Fenris a look. Hawke adamantly shook her head, hooking her arm around Fenris' and leading him unsteadily towards the party.

The moment they entered the room, all conversation ceased, all eyes on them. Fenris cringed, knowing his presence had been a bad idea, until he realized that no one was looking at him. All eyes were on Hawke, dainty and muscular, the social enigma that had graced them with her beauty. He felt her give his arm a reassuring squeeze, not too tightly, and he led her into the room. He could feel the eyes on her, piercing through him as if they could remove him from the scene. This, he mused, was worse than the thought of him embarrassing her. Piece by piece, they were deciding what she was worth to them and how they could get whatever they wanted from her.

The party resumed in its intensity, the wall of conversation extending itself around them as people filtered towards them, introducing themselves to Hawke before bombarding her with questions. Yes, her duties as Champion kept her busy. No, she hadn't singlehandedly defeated all the Qunari in Kirkwall. Yes, she had actually beheaded a dragon (not mentioning that it had been crippled and grounded when she did so; Fenris had been there with her). The questions turned to more personal matters, including condolences for her mother's passing, until one voice jumped out of the din and Fenris felt his heart race.

"Might I have a dance, milady?" The voice belonged to a young nobleman, fair of hair and skin. He had his hand held out to Hawke, bowing slightly as befitting one of her station. He might have introduced himself to her, but Fenris hadn't been listening. Still, seeing this man made his skin crawl.

Hawke's eyes widened in surprise and she looked to Fenris, her face a mix of faux smiles and panic. For all her grace on the field of battle, a hurricane of metal and blood, she was a terrible dancer, and she most certainly couldn't be trusted to manage in those shoes. He returned her gaze plainly, unsure of exactly what she expected him to do.

The nobleman glanced up at her. "I'm sure your man can find some distraction in the meantime," he added, gesturing with his eyes to a few maids who were meekly passing out drinks to some of the other guests. Fenris felt a shiver of anger roll down his spine. The man was implying that he was a servant, fit only to converse with other servants, belittling him in Hawke's presence. He pressed himself to contain the rage building inside him.

Hawke's voice cut through his tension. "I'll take it that you wish to withdraw your invitation, having insulted my date so," she replied, breathing threats through her brilliant smile. With a nod in his direction, she let Fenris lead her off, leaving the astounded nobleman alone. They made their way to one side of the room, Hawke leaning against the wall with a sigh. "If only social graces didn't keep me from giving these people a piece of my mind."

Fenris hummed his approval. "Things could have gotten messy."

She giggled. "So you were thinking the same thing? Though, I'll admit, my bare hands aren't as effective a weapon as yours." She smiled at him, her genuine smile, and his worries melted away. The song being played in the background faded out, and she held her hand out to him. "Care for a dance, serah?"

"Isn't it usually the man who asks the woman to dance?"

"From my perspective, you're the pretty one here," she smirked back. He was tempted to argue that point, but she was happy and that was all he wanted.

Taking her hand, he led her onto the dancefloor, where a few other couples were, and pulled her into position in his arms. Quite a few people had stopped their conversation to watch them, exchanging hushed whispers about his audacity and her lack of social etiquette, but he ignored them. Thankfully, the dance number was a slow one, so he was able to lead her through the steps while she practiced, clinging to him to avoid falling. Their closeness would be considered scandalous, he knew, but he didn't care. All his world was her, her lips pursed in concentration, looking down at her feet to keep her ankles twisting out from under her, putting all her faith in him to lead her. The first song ended and another started, a little faster, and he led her through the steps until she managed to keep up, still wobbling. Her skirt drifted and twirled as they danced, brushing the fabric of his pants, and the lace of her sleeves breathed against his skin as if were nothing at all.

When the second song finished, he stepped out of her hold and bowed to her. She bowed back, realizing her error a second too late, and then made to curtsy, losing her balance. Thankfully, Fenris caught her before she hit the floor, hoisting her back up into his arms. There was some laughter, but it was mostly drowned out by a polite round of applause. Hawke looked to him and beamed, managing to look sheepish and stunning all at once.

The party continued with food, drinks, and more questions for Hawke, though some complimented him on his dancing skills. She kept to his side for the rest of the evening, stealing small snatches of conversation when they could. No one else asked her for a dance, much to his relief, and no one tried to introduce her to eligible nobles or relatives. After a few hours, however, Hawke seemed like she was ready to leave. With his arm for support, she excused them from the party and they managed to make it out the door without being waylaid with more invitations. Back out on the street, Hawke pulled the cloak around her, the chill much more pronounced, and leaned against him to remove her shoes.

"Any longer in these things and I'll slice my legs off," she hissed, tenderly placing her feet on the cold street, a chill running up her spine. She let out a curse he recognized and he laughed: her accent was still terrible. "I'm just about ready to drag myself home. Maker, it's cold."

"You're not used to it," he replied, pulling off his own shoes. It was a relief to be rid of them and he swore he would never wear them again. He tossed them in a bush and then scooped her up in his arms, chuckling as she squeaked in surprise.

"F-Fenris, you don't have to carry me!" she protested. He could see the blush across her cheeks in the moonlight.

"It wouldn't do to have a lady walking the streets with her feet bare, especially not on a night like this." Ignoring her attempts at an argument, he carried her home. Eventually, she stopped arguing, resting her head on his shoulder, her breath warm against his neck.

"We're not doing this again," she stated. He couldn't agree more.


	19. Words (Hers)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The questions that need to be asked get asked.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've mostly avoided any attempt to work Fenris' swears in Tevene into this, mainly because I have an aversion to butchering languages I don't understand. With a little knowledge that Tevene is basically Latin, I figured I'd work in a bit.

"Fenris?"

"Hmm?"

"You love me, right?"

Fenris looked over his book at her, eyebrow arched is if to say 'you have to ask?' Hawke felt her heartbeat flutter. She was lying on her stomach at the foot of her bed, staring into the fireplace. Fenris, as was his wont on tired evenings, was reading, his feet brushing up against her thigh, toes occasionally skimming along her bare skin affectionately. Now, she looked at him, a question burning in her mind.

She rolled her eyes. Ask a stupid question... "For argument's sake."

"More than anything."

"Would you still love me if I were a mage?"

This time, Fenris closed his book, leveling a questioning gaze at her that sent a shiver down her spine. She wasn't sure if it was malice or fear, but she didn't like it. "Are you?"

"Hypothetically," she replied, breathless. She felt like she had been a hair away from something dangerous within him, residing deep in the darkness of him.

He relaxed a bit. "Hypothetically." There was the briefest pause. "Can I assume, _hypothetically_ , that you would still be the same person you are now?"

"Personality-wise?"

A hum of agreement.

"Yes."

"It would certainly take getting used to," he conceded softly, "but yes, I would still love you." He looked a little embarrassed, and she smiled.

"What if I were a man?"

"Hypothetically?"

"Hypothetically."

"With the same assumption on my part?"

"Yes."

Fenris let out a chuckle. "It wouldn't be much different, would it?"

Hawke huffed, pouting. "Are you saying I'm not womanly?"

He laughed more. "You know, the Qunari have a word for that.  _Aqun-Athlok_. Someone who lives as the gender they were not born as."

"I don't mean like that! I mean if I had been born a man."

"You're asking if I would be as attracted to this male Hawke as I am to the female one?" he asked, "One with the same personality and biting repartee?"

She tried to fight back a smirk and failed. "Yes." She gently nudged his foot with her leg. "Don't avoid it."

There was another pause. "I suppose I would be, though the feeling certainly wouldn't be the same."

"What do you mean?" she asked.

Fenris set his book on the bedside table and shifted down the bed, lying on his back beside her. "This love - between a man and a woman - is different than between two men, both emotionally and physically. For example, I can look at you and see the most beautiful woman in all Kirkwall, be enraptured by your very presence, but my relationship with this male Hawke would likely be built more on respect for his person rather than his looks." He smiled crookedly at her. "Though I don't doubt this male Hawke would be just as physically attractive..."

Hawke wanted to ask him about it, what such a relationship between men would be like, but she decided against him, worrying that she might drag up painful memories. Peaceful moments like these, all smiles and relaxed conversation, were ones she savoured. Instead, she reached out and brushed the hair off his face with her fingers, idly stroking along the soft locks. Under her touch, all of Fenris' tension seemed to melt away, a content smile on his face as he closed his eyes. He let her touch him, running her fingers back through his hair and along his ear, enjoying the pleased sigh that echoed in his chest.

"So, hypothetically, if I were a mage _and_ a man, would you still..." She began, running her finger down his jawline before he cut her off, picking her up by the waist to roll her underneath him, pinning her to the bed. He hovered over her, his eyes seeming to sparkle in the firelight, shadows dancing through his hair and across his skin. Hawke felt her breath hitch in her chest.

"It matters little to me just what you are, _amatus_ ," he breathed, their noses almost touching, "so long as you are you."

She blinked, trying to straighten out her thoughts. "That's a new word. What does it mean? Qunari again?"

"Tevene," he replied, his crooked smile dusting across her lips. "A word for someone who is loved."

She returned his smile, letting the tip of her tongue meet his lips. which parted as he leaned in, his hair tickling her face. " _Amatus_..."

"You accent is still terrible," he breathed, but she didn't care. She was loved. She loved him. Amatus... Together, immersed in the warmth of each other's kiss, that was all that mattered.


	20. Determination (Hers)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The beginning of the end is the end of the beginning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Seeing how late I got into Dragon Age wounds me, but hey, I'm enjoying myself. Getting to see the consequences of my actions, whether it's the stuff from my DAO save or this now. But after this (or maybe the next), it's uncharted territory.
> 
> I'm gonna punch Anders in his stupid, pretty, cat-loving face.

Again.

Again, Kirkwall burned.

Again, people died.

Again, Hawke made her choice. She would stand with the mages, with her sister. She would stand against the slaughter of the blameless. She would stand and fight. Enough damage had been done that day. The Grand Cleric could attest to that, being dead and all.

Everything was... exhausting. Either way, the day would end and she could rest. The only uncertain was whether she would be waking from that rest or not.

Hawke shook her head. No, that wasn't uncertain. She was alive now, her friends at her side. Bethany would be alive. Aveline would return to her husband. Varric would write some sappy, heroic ending to his book. They would all live through this day. Even Anders, murderer that he was, would live. She couldn't bring herself to kill her friend, let alone give him the satisfaction of dying for his cause. He would live, even if she had to make sure of it herself.

The one who she most needed the assurance of, however, was standing off to one side, watching First Enchanter Orsino calmly instruct the other mages in their preparations. Fenris didn't move when she came to stand next to him, mirroring his pose, but he managed a small smile, if not a sad one. They had butted heads over the issue many times over the six years they had known each other, agreeing on some things and disagreeing on others, but he had followed her this time. He had followed her despite it leading down the path he didn't want to travel. She was so grateful that he had stayed by her side, but she knew she couldn't say it in those words. Instead, she stood by him, relishing in the comfort his presence brought her.

"Here I am," he sighed suddenly, "about to defend these mages in hopeless battle. You lead me to strange places, Hawke." Still, he managed a smile. It only made her affection for him burn brighter.

"I'll take you to stranger places than this. Just watch." There would be more to them than just this. No matter what it took, she was making it out of this alive with him. After that... Thedas was an open book. She would go anywhere if he stayed by her side.

His crooked smile surfaced through his weary one. "A tempting offer." He was taking her up on it. That alone gave her hope. His expression saddened. "I... may not get the chance to say this again..." Their eyes met, hot and cold, hopeful and fearful, all the things they could say and all the things that were never said. "Meeting you was the most important thing that ever happened to me, Hawke." Her brought his hand to her face and she could feel his fear for her in his delicate touch, his eyes saying more than his words did. "Promise me you won't die? I can't bear the thought of living without you."

For all the broken pieces that had comprised them when they first met, now stood two whole people. She knew, deep in her heart, that losing her would be the end of him. His 'sad puppy eyes' (as Merrill liked to call them) told her so. His happiness was here, with her. But the same could be said of her. She had never known how broken she was until Fenris had brought to her the piece of her that she'd been missing. He was her heart and soul, her everything, and she wouldn't lose that. "I don't make that promise unless you do," she replied, all seriousness and determination. They would live through this, together, even if she had to call down Andraste herself to work a miracle. She would even fight the Maker for it if she had to.

It was a promise. One to keep them together forever. One to make sure they came back alive. One that held the future of their whole world together, for right or wrong.

"Nothing is going to keep me from you," he growled, a fire lighting in his eyes. He grabbed her, pulled her close and held her tight. Their lips met and her heart sang. It wouldn't be their last kiss, but it meant so much, here and now. They sealed their promise with this kiss, more elegant than the moon, more blinding than the sun, and nothing - from all the heavens, the earth, or the Fade itself - would break it.

They would kiss again, later - in victory.


	21. Journey (Hers)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Road trip fun

They had been able to spend the night back at their homes, but by the afternoon, they were gone. Orana had insisted on staying to take care of the house, so Hawke had left her mabari there for protection. No one would hurt the girl while that beast was on the prowl. There was no telling how long they would be gone... or even if they would ever come back. She wanted to hope that they would.

The wagon hit a bump in the road and Hawke winced. Anders had mostly healed the ferocious stab wound Meredith had inflicted on her, but it wasn't fully healed and she could feel it ache under her clothes. Noting her discomfort, Bethany shifted over and began some weak healing. They were all still worn out from the night before. Hawke glanced at her friends. Aveline sat at the head of the wagon, steering, Merrill gleefully fawning over the horses. Bethany, all tired smiles, had been sitting next to Varric, who had been cradling Bianca until they were far enough away from the city. With her healing finished, Bethany settled back down and Fenris wrapped an arm across Hawke's shoulders, pulling her close. She was grateful this many of her friends had chosen to stay with her, though she knew most of them would be heading their own way when they felt comfortable.

"So, Hawke, any plans?" Varric asked when they were sufficiently on their way. They were heading to Ostwick, where she assumed they would have their first breaking off. The port was as good a place as any.

Hawke took the map from her pack, pulling it out from between her Champion armor plates to unfold it across her lap. "Not sure. There's plenty of options, by land or sea, but I think a lot of them will depend on the state of affairs there."

Fenris tilted his head against hers, taking a look at the map. "I'd advise against Par Vollen."

Hawke nodded. She had no doubt the Qunari would not look favourably on the woman that had killed their Arishok. Even if they did, she certainly didn't want to be around that many Qunari. "Tevinter and Rivain are out, too." Tevinter was another obvious one; there was no way she could go there, not with Fenris by her side. He gave her shoulder an appreciative squeeze. Rivain was less obvious. She had decided against it, figuring that it ran a higher risk of bumping into Isabela, who had already gone off on her own. "Maybe not Antiva either..." She had no doubt that somehow, word had gotten back to the Crows about their missing assassins and her aiding Zevran, so she had decided to give them a wide berth. "Probably... circle around to Starkhaven, follow the Minanter...? At least until the Highway."

"Nevarra, Orlais, the Anderfels... you could even just follow the Highway to Ferelden," Bethany chipped in. "You have plenty of options."

Hawke let out an exaggerated sigh. "I feel like a child again, listening to Mother and Father figure out where we were hiding next." She smiled sadly. "I guess maybe I'm not suited to staying in one place."

"Wherever it is you decide to go, you won't be going alone." Fenris, his usual stoic self, folded up the map and reached around her to return it to her pack, his cheek brushing her forehead. She had never been more grateful for his company. After they had returned home, bloody and exhausted, he had pulled her into another breathtaking kiss, this one full of relief, as if to swear he would never let her out of his sight again. Wherever anyone else went, he would never leave her. She returned his comment with a smile.

Bethany giggled behind her hand.

Hawke raised an eyebrow at her sister. "What?" No one had said anything that warranted laughter.

"You!" Bethany managed, the smile on her face barely containing her giggles. "I wasn't sure about it when you told me, but you two! I never, ever expected to see _that_ kind of look on your face, Marian."

"And Fenris makes sad puppy eyes when they're apart!" Merrill chimed in from the front. "They're positively adorable."

Fenris scowled. "There are no puppy eyes."

Hawke barely contained a giggle of her own. He did look like a sad puppy when he was worried, but she decided not to antagonize him. She noticed Varric had shouldered Bianca and was writing something. "Writing more embarrassingly-exaggerated stories of me, Varric?"

"Finishing up my account of your spectacular battle against a fleet of templars," he replied, cheeky grin in place. "Not that I have much to embellish with Meredith. Crazy nug. If I put it straight in my story, it would sound impossible." He jotted down a few more words, cursing when the wagon hit another bump. "Maybe end things with you and Broody sailing off into the sunset."

"Don't," Fenris hissed, his eyes narrowed. Bethany and Merrill broke out into peals of laughter. Hawke was sure she heard Aveline grumbling about dealing with children.

Hawke was happy. Even things like this, after a night like they had, were enough to put her at ease. The future was uncertain, and she was ready for it.


	22. Affirmation (His)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes, the only way to be sure of something is to hold it in your own hands.

The trip from Kirkwall to Ostwick had devolved from cheerful chatter into uncomfortable silence as each day passed. Even Merrill, who had always been sickeningly cheerful, seemed exhausted. Varric had joked that she was wilting, but no one had even tried to smile. Fenris hadn't minded the trip as much as the others had; having Hawke by his side made it a lot easier. Perhaps it was also the relief that made it easier for him. Last time he had made such a long trip, he had been on the run from Danarius. In comparison to the dread his former master had filled him with, a few templars were nothing.

By the time they reached Ostwick's imposing double walls, everyone was in need of a night indoors. No one even bothered to speak up when Varric booked a single room for Hawke and then tossed Fenris the key. They had never exactly seen eye-to-eye about his relationship with Hawke, but somehow the dwarf had read his intentions like a book.

When they had all eaten and fully settled themselves, everyone bade each other a good night and retreated off to their rooms. In the privacy of their room, Fenris pulled Hawke into his arms and kissed her, softly at first, before trailing down her jaw and neck.

Hawke squirmed a bit in his arms. "Fenris... I'm tired and dirty. Aren't you?"

He let out a dissatisfied grumble, lightly nibbling at her collarbone. Of course he understood her feelings; he was tired too, but he needed this. Not out of a selfish lust for her (though he couldn't deny that), but he needed to confirm it. So much had happened to them, to her, that it felt almost like a dream to him. He was scared that he would wake up and she would be gone, slipping through his fingers. He could still feel the dread in his heart when Meredith had stabbed Hawke, seeing the blood and feeling his own run cold. He knew, deep in his heart, that he couldn't be sure until he could have her again. Only then, wrapped in her heat, breathing each other's name, could he be sure.

Instead of listening to her protest, he snaked his fingers up under her tunic, feeling the heave of her sides as she breathed. Her smallclothes were easy enough to move out of his way and he set about massaging her breasts, painstakingly slowly. For all her arguments, her breasts were firm and her nipples raised, letting out a light gasp at his touch. "Fenris..." she breathed, trying to sound scolding and only managing to sound needy.

She let him undress her, his hands and lips tracing out lines along her flesh, memorizing the patterns to the tune of her reactions. He took his time with each part of her, playing to each of the weaknesses he had discovered from their times together as they made their way to the bed. He kneaded the soft skin of her inner thighs, brushing kisses along the back of her neck, satisfied as she trembled and her breath hitched. She took to the bed herself, letting him toss his own clothing as he leaned over her, taking in her heat. Experimentally, he ran his tongue across one of her nipples before taking it between his lips and sucking on it. Hawke jerked and let out a loud moan. " _Fenris_..." she pleaded, digging her fingers into the coarse sheets, her hips twitching upward in anticipation of him.

"I thought you were tired," he muttered mockingly against her breast.

She shot him a dirty glare. "You made me like this."

He chuckled, climbing on top of her. She jerked again, into the heat of him, but he pressed her hips down despite how erect he was. Sliding his fingers into her, wet as she was, he pulled one of her legs over his shoulder and kissed along the inside of her thigh, his other hand drifting to the skin of her rear. He gave her a playful squeeze, feeling her clamp down around his fingers with a gasp and a shudder. The taste of her along her thighs was moist and intoxicating, raw and sweet. He was lucky, he mused, to be in love with a woman that was both loving and delicious.

When he withdraw his fingers, licking her juices off them, she let out an exasperated sigh. "Patience, Marian."

She whimpered. "You enjoy this if you want. I _want you_."

Fenris shifted himself, laying on top of her. "You made it sound like you weren't ready."

With a feral growl, Hawke pulled him in, knotting her fingers in his hair. He was so unprepared for her ferocity, his markings flared up blue, his body tensing. Hawke didn't seem to notice, her legs at his hips, pressing her body to his as she nibbled at his lower lip hungrily. The intensity of her reminded him of that first night, of how he wanted her and knew he could never deserve her, of how she had chosen him, of the beating of his heart when she pinned him to the wall... She was clawing at him, her nails scraping lightly along his flesh, his marks pulsing like a second heartbeat. It was a good pain, one that felt as good as it hurt, one that he loved as much as he hated.

He pushed into her, relishing in the way she arced her body to accept him, finding the position that gave them both the most pleasure. He was drowned in the heat of her, suffocated as she squeezed around him, her body impossibly starved for his touch, and he knew. She moaned and cried his name into his shoulder, her breathing ragged, while she rocked into him, letting him claim her. So deep inside her, he hit his release, the knot in his gut uncoiling deliriously. She joined him, convulsing around and underneath him, a groan escaping her lips that sent a shiver up his spine.

Finally fulfilled, he withdraw and dropped to the sheets beside her, cradling her when she rolled up against him. Her heart pounded against his skin, her breath cool against his warm sweat: she was there, truly and impossibly real, but she was there. He held her close, vowing silently to never let her go.

He felt Hawke's fingers brush against his cheek, a sudden wetness there that he hadn't noticed. "Fenris... are you crying?" He started, realizing that he _was_ crying. He tried wiping them away with the side of his hand, but they were replaced by more. Before he could even think why he would be crying, Hawke was gently kissing him, her lips solid and reassuring. "It's alright. I'm right here," she cooed, her smile full of understanding. He couldn't even open his mouth to speak, the tears spilling down his face bewildering him. "I know. It's scary, right? We could have died, but here we are. I'm scared of waking up from this dream too, but it's not a dream. I'm scared too..." she repeated, her voice dying into a whisper. He could feel her hands trembling, knowing now that she had needed to reaffirm his existence to herself, just as he had.

Wiping another tear from his face, Hawke shifted, pulling herself up so that Fenris' head was resting against her breast. The sound of her heart beat in his head, steady and clear, each one speaking the truth he had been seeking. He stayed there in her arms, his tears drying, as he slowly fell into sleep.


	23. Departures (Hers)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Playing lost and found with Hawke's heart

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm internally murdering myself with all the research I've been doing for this while I wait for my copy of Inquisition in the mail. Hurry it up, Amazon.

Bethany was the first to go. There were no tearful goodbyes between the sisters when the younger broke the news that she was staying in Ostwick for a time before heading back to Kirkwall. She had decided, firm in her convictions, that she would see to the mages in Ostwick's Circle, make sure they were fine, before she brought the fight back to the templars back home. Never had Hawke sung with pride over her little sister, but she did then, knowing that the woman before her was one she had protected and raised into the pillar of steel she was determined to be.

Aveline went next, taking Merrill back with her. It took them getting to Starkhaven for the two to decide that the people needed them back. Aveline, at least, had never made her intention to go back a secret, but Merrill had. When she told them she was going back, Hawke had nearly broken out into tears. Merrill had assured her that she wanted to see to the elves of the alienage, and that had set her off. Hearing the elf tell her that it made her freckles stand out only made Hawke cry more. She knew they would see each other again, knew in her heart, but seeing the girl care so much when she had lost everything made Hawke all the more pained to see her go. Aveline was another story. The woman had dared Hawke to cry by telling her not to, but Hawke hadn't cried. Aveline was the stern older sister she had never known she needed, but if anyone could take care of themselves, it was her.

The one that hit her hardest was when Varric left. She had come to love the dwarf, as blunt and outlandish as he was, as her best friend. She could tell him anything - _everything_ \- and he wouldn't bat an eyelash. On the way up to Starkhaven, she had even asked him to teach her how to use Bianca, to which he had reluctantly acquiesced ("so long as you treat her like a lady, Hawke" "You're implying I'm not a lady too?!"). The kickback had stung her shoulder, but there was nothing more satisfying than hearing the thud of the bolt lodging itself in her target (a very unfortunate tree). Varric was always making jokes to lighten her mood, telling outlandish stories that even she struggled to believe, and generally being the person she needed to offset her personality. But nooo, boats didn't agree with him, so he would make his own way back to Kirkwall, expecting her to write. She knew he would find a way to get word to her, even if she didn't know where she was.

"Take care of her, Elf," Varric had tossed over his shoulder as he walked off, like an idea that was little more than an afterthought. "I'm expecting a brood of brooding babies by the time you get back from your honeymoon." Hawke had blushed so red that she thought she would pass out.

That left her with Fenris. When she had jokingly asked when he was getting off 'The Champion's Thrilling Expedition', he had leveled her with a glare that told her never to joke about it again. It was a withering glare, but she knew that she wouldn't trade it for all of Thedas. He was there, through good or bad, and she knew of no one she'd rather have at her side.

They traveled down the Minanter on a small cargo freighter taking goods inland from Wycome to Nevarra, agreeing to work in exchange for passage. The small crew had been receptive of the extra help, though Hawke had begun to suspect it was more _her_ presence that they accepted, especially when one of the men took a firm swipe at her rear one day while she was cleaning the deck. Just as quickly, the man found himself clinging to the rail from the wrong side, Fenris' fingers digging painfully into the skin of his hand while he issued threats to the sailor. It had earned Fenris three weeks of latrine duties, but he confessed to her secretly that it was worth it when no such incidents happened again.

Finally, after long weeks of smelling like fish (which Fenris had spent the entire trip avoiding like the Taint), they arrived in Nevarra, glad to be remaining on solid ground for more than a few days. Hawke was astonished to see how beautiful Nevarra City was, all statues and pillars, art in and of itself. She managed to keep her awe in check, however, as Fenris kept a tight grip on her hand to prevent them losing each other. They made various stops at the market stalls set up by the river to prepare for whatever the next leg of their journey would be, and Hawke managed to slip away from Fenris - while still under his watchful eye - to buy them some... _comfort_ food while they discussed their next move.

Fenris seemed a bit surprised when she handed him one of the apples she had picked out, but his eyes were appreciative. He rolled it over in his fingers, mesmerizing her for a moment before he took a bite. She wiped a bit of juice from his chin before she set into hers, never having been more happy to eat something that wasn't preserved to Antiva and back, musing idly that Fenris might need a haircut. The strands of his white hair were beginning to look unkempt, dropping across his face in a way that partially obscured his eyes, and Hawke couldn't stand that. His eyes were half of understanding his expressions... not to mention that she loved staring into them, all clear hazel under his dark eyebrows and... Maker, she loved him.

"Marian?"

His voice broke her out of her reverie. To maintain their cover, he had taken to calling her by her first name in public, which made her blush more than it should. Varric's words of 'honeymoon' suddenly came back to her and, ignoring the question Fenris had apparently asked her, she stared and asked, "What do you think about marriage?"

Her question obviously surprised him, as he buried his face in his apple, eyes hidden beneath his hair. No doubt, she was cutting it, first chance she got. "Marriage is... something I've never thought about," he muttered in reply, pretending to take interest in something off in the distance.

The next question was out of her mouth before she could stop to think about it. "Would you be opposed to getting married?" Now he looked at her, eyes full of unspoken questions and curiosities rattling around in his head, trying to gauge her intent from her words and tone. She continued, embarrassed babbling setting in. "I mean, not that I'm asking if you'd be opposed to marrying _me_ , I was just asking what your opinion of it would be and whether or not you would... be... opposed..." She trailed off, watching his expression change again.

"I have nothing to give you," he replied, his entire being radiating defeat. He was upset with himself, with his own lack of status and standing, with being unable to provide for her as he thought he should, and she wouldn't have that.

"You don't need to," she retorted, placing a finger on his lips before he could open them to argue. They were moist to her touch, so soft and inviting that she had to restrain herself from leaning in to kiss them. "I already have what I want from you." It was a departure from her usual way of flirting, but she knew she didn't need to at this stage. "And that's more than enough."

His eyebrow raised under his hair, not catching her meaning. "What do you...?"

"I have you, don't I?" she smiled, taking a bite of her apple, manners be damned. "I mean, if that doesn't make me sound presumptuous, of course."

She had barely finished speaking when his hand was curled under her chin, pulling her into an unexpected kiss. His lips were sweet, doubly so, and she could barely find the attention to breathe when his tongue slid between her lips, coiling against hers, tasting of fruit and him and the Nevarran air filled with scents she could never place. A few people glanced at them while they walked past, eyeing the human woman half-collapsed into the arms of elf kissing her more indecently than they should be in public, but most ignored the sight, as if this was something normal. It wasn't until his lips left hers, some of the apple mush from her mouth on his tongue, licking his lips clean, did she remember that she could breathe.

His smile, crooked with the boldness that only their anonymity could give him, sent a jolt of lightning straight to her pounding heart. "Without a doubt, I am yours," he told her, his voice low and teasing and full of everything that made her turn into a puddle of emotional goo in his arms, their noses almost touching. Her answer was a breathless kiss, saying the words she couldn't find the air to speak. _I am yours, my love,_ she kissed into his lips, arms around his neck, _forever_.


	24. Questions (His)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Know when the time to ask questions is, because when it passes, you may not get the chance again

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm trying to tie this in as much as possible to Inquisition and what I know of it, while keeping the events of my playthroughs in mind. I like the feeling of ownership that the character creation in Origins gave me, so you'll have to excuse me for taking the 'mysterious former protagonist' route. I'm sure I'll have Hawke do that with my Inquisitor, too.

Fenris had spent enough time around Hawke to know when not to ask questions. She had a tell, which made it surprising that she was good at Wicker Grace. Her eyes gave it away, eyelids dipping slightly when she didn't want her decisions or actions questioned. He had first noticed it during one of her conversations with Aveline in Kirkwall, back when the older woman had asked Hawke about courting Donnic. Aveline had brought up Hawke's relationship with Fenris, which was a touchy subject at the time, he having left her only a few nights before. Hawke had replied that they weren't the best example, her eyes narrowing to silently tell Aveline to drop the subject. After that, he began noticing it at the end of long days of work, when she seemed to want nothing more than a drink and a pillow. It was how he kept tabs on her monthlies, the times when she was most irritable and more prone to leaving herself a bed-ridden, disheveled mess - mostly in need of comforting cuddles when it got bad.

When Hawke decided, one morning on their way from Nevarra to Cumberland, that she wanted to travel to her old home town of Lothering, her eyes had narrowed in the way that dared him to try and argue. He didn't, and they had continued with their journey along the Highway. Truthfully, he was curious to see the kind of country she had grown up in. The town had been destroyed and rebuilt since then, of course, so it would never be _her_ home town, but he knew that she had her reasons for going there and he would follow her.

The news at Cumberland wasn't all good, to say the least. What they had started in Kirkwall had become, very quickly, the Mage-Templar War, and the war was escalating. As a result, they couldn't find a ship to Highever, which would be the best port to get to Lothering from, electing to manage passage to Jader and travel on foot from there. That night, Hawke had cried herself to sleep at his side, smiling only when she awoke the next morning, her hair a tousled mess. The trip across the Waking Sea went as well as the trip down the Minanter had, except the sea was much less agreeable. It took one near spill off the side of the ship for Fenris to declare that he would tie her to the mast if she didn't keep close to him. The trip too a considerable amount of effort on both their parts, but Hawke was looking more worse for wear than he felt, so he had insisted on staying a few days before they set out.

Traveling along the Highway was easier on both of them, and it got Hawke talking about Ferelden, telling him things she knew about the society and geography, explaining their route a few times. He knew much of the stuff she told him, having read it in books from her library in Kirkwall, but the sound of her voice soothed his nerves, so he let her talk, occasionally throwing innocuous questions when she seemed lacking in details.

The next hitch in their journey was slightly less of a problem. Hawke had told him that their path was intersected by Lake Calenhad, a large body of water that forced the Highway to split around it. North was the docks that brought passage to the Circle Tower, where most of the Ferelden mages were kept, while south took them past Redcliffe and along the Frostback Mountains. When they arrived at the pass, however, a merchant wagon told them that the road around the north end of the lake was closed, something having to do with the mages of the Tower. With the southern road the only one open to them, they followed the Highway down and around, stopping in Redcliffe to resupply. The trip was cold, not only because of the mountain, but Hawke had mentioned that the Wilds were south of them, as well as wherever the darkspawn that had attacked Ostagar came from. He had seen the look on her face hen she mentioned Ostagar, the narrowing of her eyes that signaled the conversation to stop there, and he instead asked her the question he had wanted to ask for months.

"Marian, why did you want to come back here?" It wasn't an accusation or reprimanding; she had a lot of memories in Lothering, and he wanted to know just which one had called her back here.

She had smiled over her shoulder then, a sad smile that made his chest ache with the memories he didn't have. "I wanted to make sure Father approves." Then she had stopped talking all the way to Lothering.

The town was obviously a far cry from what it had been, only a few houses spread wildly across the land, but Hawke had broken into speech again when they got there, telling him stories ranging from commonplace (she had beaten up six boys older than her when they had picked on Carver) to bizarre (apparently, Bethany's friend had been killed by a hornless Qunari shortly before they left). Finally, she stopped talking in front of what appeared to be the remains of a tree, a broken rock propped up against the burnt trunk.

Hawke walked slowly, reverently, up to the tree, brushing her hand along the rock, small teardrops hitting the ground at her feet. "Hello Father," she whispered, and Fenris realized with a start that the rock was a stand-in for a headstone. Here, buried under the watchful gaze of what had once been a tree, lay Malcolm Hawke, the apostate father she had talked about so fondly. She kneeled down in front of the headstone. "I know I could have easily gone to the chantry and hoped the Maker passed on my message, but I like to do these things in person." A strangled chuckle broke from her throat. "I know Mother and Carver are with you, wherever that is, but I'm fine here. Beth is doing well; you should see how mature she is..." Hawke trailed off, her form shuddering. Fenris hesitated, wanting nothing more than to hold her in his arms and let her cry, but remained where he was. Hawke dragged her sleeve across her eyes, wiping her unshed tears. "I've been doing good things, I think, so I guess you don't have to come down here and lecture me...

"Oh, and I'm not lonely, so you don't have to worry about that. I've got Fenris," she choked on a sob, "and he's really good to me. He's quiet and shy sometimes, and gets angry over things, but he's... I love him very much." There was another pause. "I think... you would butt heads over things, but you'd like him. He gets emotional over things like you do... All quiet and moody... I want to stay with him forever, if that's okay with you..." Her voice cracked, her shuddering breaking into full-on sobbing. " _I miss you so much, Father_."

This time, Fenris made his way to her, a hand on her shoulder, and she collapsed into his arms, wailing harder than he had ever heard her. She felt so small and weak in his arms, so fragile that he feared she would shatter in his hands, but he held her close, knowing she needed him there. He started talking, quietly, not knowing exactly what he was doing but knowing it felt right. "I'm not sure if my words will reach, but you have a wonderful daughter. She's brave, kind, and willing to put up with someone as frustrating as I can be." Hawke hiccuped out a sob. "I don't know if you'd approve of me, let alone approve of my love for her, but Marian is special. She makes me feel complete, like my worthless life has purpose, and I'd do anything to protect her... I don't... speak fondly when it comes to mages, but... to have such a woman as your child, I have nothing but respect for you... and hope that, when I work up the courage to do so, you'll look favourably on me marrying her." His last few words were barely a whisper, barely even spoken, but the sun came out from behind a cloud and he felt like they were heard.

In that moment, he knew Malcolm Hawke approved. Fenris swore, deep in his heart, that he wouldn't let that go to waste. He would make sure that the woman he loved was happy, no matter what it took.

There was a light padding of footsteps that made Fenris tense up, breaking Hawke from her fit of sobbing, his guard raised as a tabby cat came padding out from behind the tree. It hissed at him, tail standing on end, before slinking over to rub against Hawke's leg. Fenris instantly disliked the animal.

"Now, now, Ser Pounce-a-lot. Stop bothering the nice couple."

Fenris, on his feet, sword in hand, spun to see a cloaked figure of a woman standing behind them. How she had snuck up on him, he didn't know, but something about her made his skin crawl. Her face was hidden deep in the cowl of her cloak, only her lips visible. The tabby purred and trotted over to the woman, curling up into her hand as she reached down to pet it. Then, he spotted what had unnerved him; the woman had a sword, the back of her cloak distending in the shape of a shield as she crouched. _Templar_ , his mind shouted, and he acted, charging fast at the woman, the lyrium in his skin pulsing.

Blindingly fast, the woman spun low, cat cradled in her arms, so Fenris' greatsword could clang against the shield. He tried to draw back, distance himself for another strike, but the woman acted faster, lashing out as she finished her spin. He had expected the sword, preparing for pain, but was met by her leg instead, plate mail boots and guards under an emerald green dress, making his knee buckle under him. He dropped to the ground, his sword clattering beside him, too bewildered by the fact that this woman had disarmed him so swiftly to care that he _had_ been disarmed. The woman, sword now drawn and hovering over his chest, stared down at him, her eyes a firm emerald green that matched her dress. She had a look that could kill, but she didn't, only using her sword to make sure he stayed down.

Hawke, who had been watching the exchange of blows, spoke up. "Please, don't hurt him." Her voice was cracked, and Fenris felt his anger flare up. Hawke was begging, _begging_ for his life, after he had sworn to protect her. She was protecting him, belittling herself to do it.

The woman didn't respond at first, slowly returning her sword to her side. Then she reached down, offering Fenris her hand in aid. He cringed, rolling himself to his feet on his own. Under her cowl, the woman was smiling. "Touchy one, aren't you?" she joked. Fenris returned her comment with a scowl. "I don't mean you any harm," she said, turning her attention to Hawke. "Your friend here startled me, and I reacted on instinct." The cat at her feet let out a meow and she crouched down again to scratch it affectionately. "You weren't afraid, were you Ser Pounce-a-lot." The cat meowed in response. Something about that cat bothered him.

Hawke walked over to join them. "Does that cat... belong to you?" she asked, her brow furrowed. Apparently, the cat bothered her too.

"Not quite," the woman replied, "but I'm taking care of him for a friend that can't. His former occupation didn't allow him to keep pets, it seems, so this little one came looking for me." She stood up, the cat curled contently in her arms. "Poor thing has been forlorn for years."

"What... was his owner's former occupation?" Hawke's voice was tinged with suspicion.

The woman smiled, a sly, knowing smile that was equal parts terrifying and absolutely normal. "He was an apostate Grey Warden under my command," the woman answered, shifting the cat in her arms to draw back her cowl, her bright emerald eyes shining out from a face framed in fiery red hair. "An excellent healer in a crisis, wouldn't you say, Champion?"

Both Hawke and Fenris tensed, startled that they had been identified. Fenris had a brief moment of wondering if he could reach his sword when Hawke spoke, barely over a whisper. "You're the Hero of Ferelden..."


	25. Questions (Hers)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The meeting of similar minds gives way to great progress

Hawke's breath caught in her chest. Never... _never_ had she thought this meeting would occur, but here she was, facing down the Hero of Ferelden, slayer of the Archdemon, _Queen_ of Ferelden... The woman was regal, not in her mannerisms or her bearing, but in a way that made you want to do what she told you because she was telling you to. Yet, here she was, a long way from Denerim, holding a cat that Hawke knew had belonged to Anders. He had mentioned having to abandon his cat - Ser Pounce-a-lot - before he left the Grey Wardens, and it could be no coincidence that this cat had the same peculiar name. That the Hero of Ferelden knew who she was, of all people, was baffling.

Suddenly, Hawke remembered her place and bowed awkwardly. "M-my apologies, Your Majesty!" Beside her, Fenris seemed unable to move, though she couldn't tell whether it was awe or confusion.

To her surprise, the woman groaned. "Please, none of that. If you need formalities, Warden-Commander is as high as I'll go, though I suppose that's not my title anymore. Otherwise, you may call me Nora Cousland..." She paused, her brow furrowed. "Theirin? Cousland-Theirin? Just Nora is fine." She held out her free hand to Hawke. "It's nice to meet you, Champion."

Hawke awkwardly returned the gesture. "Just... Marian. Marian Hawke."

"Marian. Wonderful," Nora nodded, taking an apparent liking to the name. "And your aggressive, handsome friend over here?" Fenris tensed, his eyes turned angrily on her, but she laughed it off. "No need to worry, I won't try to steal you away from her. I'm married - happily married, in fact."

"He's Fenris," Hawke explained when it was clear he wasn't going to speak. A thought occurred to her. "If you don't mind me asking, Nora, what are you doing out here? Aren't you supposed to be in Denerim? With the king?" Hawke had the privilege of meeting King Alistair, noting now that he and his queen were quite similar: casual and slightly absentminded.

Nora nodded. "I've got some business to take care of, business I can't trust my husband to stay out of." She smirked. "You certainly left an impression on him."

Hawke could hardly contain her surprise. "The King mentioned me?"

"It's not every day you meet the Champion of Kirkwall, let alone find out you were present at the same doomed battle." Nora pouted a little. "He was more impressed with your killing the Arishok than he was when I killed the bloody Archdemon. I can't say I'm not a little jealous." Hawke felt a blush rise to her cheeks, and Fenris let out a growl beside her. Nora laughed again, clear and jovial. "But yes, I have some business that Alistair doesn't have the privilege of turning his attention to. He's busy enough as it is."

"Might I ask what kind of business?" Hawke questioned.

Nora's face suddenly went rigid, serious. "It's Grey Warden business, something I'm not at liberty to discuss." That was the end of that conversation, whether Hawke wanted it to be or not. She wasn't about to question this woman.

"You're a templar," were the first words out of Fenris' mouth since the woman had appeared. It was accusatory, defensive.

The Queen took the question in stride. "Not formally. I have the training of one, but not the initiation. I'm a Grey Warden." She smiled. "Don't worry. If you're thinking that I might turn you two over to angry templars, perish the thought. I'm a neutral party. I have enough on my plate without getting involved in this." Ser Pounce-a-lot shifted uncomfortably in her arms, Nora barely stifling a laugh. "So fussy, this thing. Always making sure people take care of themselves, just like his owner." In response, the cat meowed and playfully batted at her face with his paws. "Incorrigible."

* * *

At Nora's urging, they stayed the night at the only inn in the new Lothering, though calling it an 'inn' was being far too generous. It was little more than a renovated barn, creaking loudly in the wind. Hawke found herself unable to sleep, despite Fenris' peaceful breathing beside her moments after they laid down. With careful movements, she managed to untangle herself from his arms, watching as he shifted a little in his sleep to compensate for her absence. Content that she hadn't woken him, she slipped out of the room and made her way to the front.

The inn, naturally, was also the local tavern, and the front room was peppered with tables and strange numbers of chairs. Closest to the entrance, Hawke spotted Nora, sitting alone with only a small lamp at her table, casting her shadow along the wall. Her cloak gone, the emerald green of her dress made her look like a tree caught in a forest fire, wild and untouchable. As Hawke approached, however, she noticed on of the sleeves had been pulled up to Nora's elbow, revealing a band of white cloth, roses in pink and red woven expertly into it.

"It's beautiful," Hawke muttered, keeping her voice low.

Nora let out a hum of agreement. "A present from my husband. The first gift he ever gave me was a rose. We joked and he told me he planned to drive the darkspawn away with it." She giggled, warm and nostalgic. "The kind of love that can only form under the most dire of circumstances. It was just the two of us, after Ostagar, against the coming Blight. I was so sure we would die, we were both so green and afraid, but he kept me smiling... gave me hope. Now look at us." A playful smile tugged at her lips. "From the two most hopeless Grey Wardens in Thedas to the King and Queen of Ferelden." Hawke watched as she ran a finger across one of the embroidered roses. "Fenris has something like this, I noticed. Your colours?"

Hawke nodded slowly. "I... yes, it is."

"He reminds me a bit of Alistair... if Alistair was a grumpy elf."

"You miss him." Hawke could hear the sadness in Nora's voice when she talked of the King, realizing that it was the same voice that had filled her head for the three years Fenris had distanced himself from her.

"More than words can describe."

"Then why don't you go back?"

Nora's face hardened in the lamplight. "I can't. I'm doing this for his sake."

"Doing... what?" It was a taboo subject, she felt, but it was worth asking.

Nora let out a sigh. "Hunker down, then, because it's a bit of a story." When she was sure Hawke was seated comfortably, she continued. "The Grey Wardens are an organization that, once joined, you can never truly leave. The initiation process is permanent. Even if you stop working as a Grey Warden, it's a part of you. The Joining makes us immune to the taint, we're told, but that's not the whole truth. It taints us, if we survive, but we taint slower. Eventually, we hear the same call the darkspawn do, and we join their numbers ourselves. There's no way to avoid it; all you can do is wait and pray to the Maker that your time doesn't come sooner."

Hawke felt a horrible chill run up her spine. "There's... no way..."

"No one tells you this before you join, and it's the Warden's best kept secret," Nora smiled wryly. "But there's a story of a woman, not more than a few decades ago, who was forced to leave the Grey Wardens after being cleansed. If there's a way to avoid that fate, to leave the Grey Wardens, I want to find it... For Alistair's sake."

"So he can stay King?"

Nora let out a sigh and clasped her hands on the table, looking down at them solemnly. "There's a... side-effect of the Joining: it drastically lowers the odds of being able to conceive or bear children. If one of a couple is a Warden, it's a very slim chance. If both are Wardens... Well, no two Wardens have ever tried. Alistair is King, and so my duty as his Queen is to produce him an heir... which I can't. He's working so hard to be a good monarch and I promised to support him, but... I'm failing at the one thing I need to do, not just for him, but for Ferelden." There was a long silence, one that Nora herself broke. "I want to do this for him. I want to show him our child and see the smile on his face when I tell him we made this together. I want this for him, and for me. I won't stop until I find this cure and deliver it to him."

Hawke felt a smile pull at her lips. The Hero of Ferelden was, for a seasoned warrior, just as human as Hawke was, and she saw some of herself in the woman.

"Marian."

Hawke was startled out of her thoughts, hearing her name and seeing the serious look on Nora's face. "Yes?"

"The lyrium you found, the red lyrium... I heard about it from Nathaniel and the First Warden... about what it did to Meredith. The Wardens are investigating, but..." She took a deep breath a let it out slowly. "You're still investigating it, correct?"

"I am." She hadn't done much investigating on it herself of late, but she knew Varric would brief her with whatever he found when she got back to Kirkwall.

"Don't take Fenris with you."

Hawke jolted, like taking a bolt to the chest. "Why not?" Fenris would never leave her side, she knew, and she didn't want him to leave. She trusted him, loved him, didn't want to go anywhere without him...

"Those marks on his skin. I could feel the lyrium radiating off them when he attacked me. A powerful ability, to be sure, but... the Wardens researching the red lyrium... think that whatever it is that turned the lyrium red... might be contagious."

"Contagious? But we spent two weeks in the Deep Roads, getting out of that thaig. No one got sick."

"It's not contagious in the way you think. It... for lack of a better word, it taints lyrium. It's a slow process, but prolonged exposure to it... You know what it did to Meredith."

The memory of what happened, watching Meredith's body solidify, seeing her hand _disintegrate_... Hawke blanched. "You're saying... that could happen to him?"

"I'm not sure, I've only been briefed on it... but is it a chance you're willing to take?"

There wasn't any doubt in her mind. "No. No, I'm not. Thank you."

"Thank me later," Nora chuckled. "I have good news for you. If you're looking for more information, I know a man who can give it to you. Fellow by the name of Stroud. He's Orlesian, but he only operates out of the Free Marches. I heard something about him investigating an abandoned Grey Warden prison in the Vimmarks."

Another cold chill ran up Hawke's spine. The prison... After a demon tried to murder her through Fenris' connection to the Fade, they had ended up in that Grey Warden prison. She had learned just what Malcolm Hawke had done, for Leandra's sake... for _her_ sake. They had faced the tainted magister, destroyed him... "Is there... anything there?"

"You'll have to ask him that question yourself." With a sigh, Nora stood up. "As I said before, I have enough on my plate, so I'm keeping my neck out of this one. Just... keep it quiet. There's something going on with the Wardens, something strange, and has nothing to do with mages or templars..."

The message almost couldn't be clearer: watch who you trust. If Nora was telling her that she could trust Stroud, then Hawke knew she could trust him. Having said her piece, Nora bid Hawke a good night, leaving her alone at the table with her thoughts. After a few minutes, Hawke stood up, dimming the lamp, and returned to bed. She managed to slide back into bed without waking Fenris, and he shifted to wrap his arm around her waist as if she'd never left.


	26. Return (Hers)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ugh this was a bitch to write. I blame Inquisition. There's too much to do.

One thing Hawke had missed most about Kirkwall was the smell. Unfortunately, it often smelled like fish, so Fenris had plenty to complain about.

When they had left Lothering, Nora had given Hawke a letter and told her to give it to the Teyrn of Highever. Fergus Cousland had apparently not been expecting to hear from his younger sister, but nevertheless arranged for a boat to take Hawke and Fenris to Ostwick as the letter directed. From there, they followed the coast down along the Vimmarks, retracing the first leg of their journey until they finally reached Kirkwall. The first thing they did, as Hawke demanded, was head home. Their return wouldn't go unnoticed, she knew, so she wanted to celebrate her return at home, if she could. Fenris hadn't argued.

She had barely opened the door when she was knocked flat on her rear, crushed under the weight of smelly, wet mabari. It took her and Fenris together to get the exuberant hound off her, wiping the slobber off her face, when Orana rounded the corner. The servant let out a squeak of surprise and then launched herself forward, wrapping Hawke up in an unexpected embrace.

"Mistress! Oh, I'm so glad to see you return!" The elf seemed well, much less of the twig Hawke remembered her as from their first encounter, aside from the tears streaming from her eyes.

"I trust no one gave you trouble, Orana?"

"Not a stitch, Mistress. Mistress Bethany has made regular visits, Messeres Aveline and Varric have stopped by numerous times to ensure the estate was secure, and Messere Merrill has dropped in to help with errands. Oh!" Orana jumped slightly, giving them a small curtsy. "Welcome home, Mistress Hawke, Messere Fenris." The mabari let out a woof of agreement.

Hawke couldn't keep the smile off her face, noting the slight furrow of Fenris' eyebrows at being addressed so formally. "Thank you, Orana. It's good to be back. You've been sufficiently paid while I was away?"

Orana nodded. "Of course, Mistress, as you instructed. I've continued to keep the house in order and..." she paused, blushing slightly. "I must admit, the Messeres seem quite taken with my baking. They... have occasionally paid me to bake certain items. Is that... not to your liking, Mistress?"

"I'm quite taken with your baking as well, Orana," Hawke replied, seeing the demure girl blush under the praise. "And before you even think of it, that coin is yours to keep. You more than earned it."

"Oh, Mistress, I couldn't! There's so much, and there were some expenses for the upkeep and-" Orana let out a gasp. "I'm sorry, Mistress. You must be starving! I'll prepare a meal and bring tea into the sitting room." With another tiny curtsy, Orana took off towards the kitchen.

Hawke stifled a laugh until she caught Fenris rolling his eyes, breaking out into a fit of laughter that brought tears to her eyes. They barely had time after she recovered to make their way to the sitting room when the front door opened again, Bethany nearly jumping clean out of her robes in shock. The sisters hugged, exchanging pleasantries as Orana brought in the tea, quietly slipping back out to get more cups. Fenris settled himself on one of the couches, content to stay out of the conversation.

"I see you two haven't changed a bit," Bethany smiled, looking the two of them over, "except for your hair. Where did you go?"

"Nevarra for a time, and then Ferelden." Hawke paused. "I went to see Father."

Bethany was silent for just as long, piping in with, "I'm sure he appreciated it." It was a short, simple response, but it was enough.

"I'm surprised half the city isn't kicking open the door," Hawke mumbled, taking the warm cup of tea to sit next to Fenris. He was warm, too, and she relished in her little bundle of comfort. "I'd say Varric is slacking."

"Varric isn't in Kirkwall."

Hawke felt something sink in her stomach. At her side, Fenris tensed. As long as she had known the dwarf, Kirkwall had been his home, business, and dump, all rolled into one. That he wasn't there was more than slightly shocking. "Where...?"

"He didn't say. Vanished suddenly one day. He sent a letter back here, telling us he was alright, but he never said where."

Hawke's fingers tightened around her cup until Fenris gently laid his hand on her wrist, making her look up. The reassurance in his eyes was enough to set her at ease. They both knew Varric could take care of himself.

The rest of the evening passed, full of meals and short conversation about current events: from the state of rebuilding Kirkwall to the mages disbanding the Circles. Hawke let herself settle into the familiar politics of her home until Bethany bid them a good night and they headed up to bed. In the privacy of their room, a privacy that seemed almost foreign after so much travel, Fenris pulled her into his arms and fell back into the soft bed, cradling her as he pressed kisses into her hairline and across her forehead.

"Welcome home, Marian," he muttered against her skin, a tiny smile on his lips.

Hawke didn't reply, curling into his embrace. In his arms, she truly felt home, safe and secure, but a whisper of fear clawed up her spine like a cold breeze. She knew it wouldn't last... not unless she took action first.


	27. Fury (His)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Normalcy is a fragile thing

Four days out at the Wounded Coast was more than enough for Fenris. Even hunting slavers wasn't enough to make him enjoy the salty fish smell for more than a few minutes. When the job was finally done, he wanted nothing more than a bath and Hawke in his arms. He hadn't realized just how much he had become addicted to her presence until he had actually set out on this job.

"Tevinter slavers down on the Coast," Hawke had explained to him over breakfast, all business. He had missed the serious tone she had when there was a job to do. "Take Aveline, Merrill, and Beth with you."

"And you?" It was rare that she sent them on a job without her, and even rarer that she turned down the opportunity to hunt down slavers with him.

She shook her head, biting into a roll. "I have some resupplying to do." He had given her a concerned look then, and she laughed. "Fenris, I can handle a few menial chores by myself. Besides, I can deal with a few ruffians, even if they sneak up on me."

Reluctantly, he had agreed and they had left that afternoon. There were an astonishingly large number of slavers, some hidden in caves while others were camped out in plain sight. It was a lot of work, but Fenris had quickly fallen back into the rhythm of combat, greatsword slicing through flesh with ease while he ghosted across dirt and sand, pulling organs out from the unsuspecting men and woman. Time had taken away his infamy among them, it seemed, as they were ill prepared for his style of fighting. Bethany managed her role as healer well, though the lack of a rogue resulted in a number of trap-related injuries. It had gone as well as it could have, considering how out-of-practice they were, but the job was done.

Aveline headed up to Hightown with him, giving him a nod as she headed off to the Keep to file her report. Fenris, far more tired than he had realized, shuffled into the Amell/Hawke estate, met by the quiet sounds of Orana cooking. They stopped a moment after he came in, and Orana popped around the corner. "Welcome back, Messere Fenris."

Fenris gave a nod in her direction, still uncomfortable being addressed so formally. "Hawke?" He had half-expected her to be there waiting for him to return, though he wouldn't be surprised to find that she was still running errands.

"Mistress hasn't been home the past few days," Orana replied. Something in Fenris' chest grew cold, dread flowing into his limbs. He barely heard Orana continue. "She left a note for you, Messere; told me to give it to you when you returned." She turned and went to Hawke's desk in the parlor, carefully pushing aside a short stack of letters to pull one out. It was a small, folded square of parchment, purposely tucked in at the edges. He removed his gauntlets and took it from her, giving her a questioning look. "I was told not to open it, Messere. Mistress' orders."

Careful not to rip it, Fenris unfolded the note, not sure what he would find. Hawke's messy scrawl littered the page, and his heart jumped into his chest as he began to read.

> _Fenris,_
> 
> _By the time you read this, I'll be gone. I would tell you not to get angry, but I know you will, regardless of what I put here. Before you jump to any conclusions, know that I love you more than anything. You are everything to me. 'Nothing could be worse than the thought of living without you'. Those words mean more to me than a thousand 'I love you's could ever hope to compare. That's why I have to do this._
> 
> _I won't tell you where I'm going or why I'm going there, because I know that if I did, you would follow me. That's something I can not have. What I plan to do is something that is significantly more dangerous to you than it is to me. That's why I couldn't tell you. That's why I need you to stay where I know you're safe. I can't bring myself to think of what life would be like if I lost you. I need to do this alone._
> 
> _Please, understand why I can't tell you. I'm afraid of losing you. I'm afraid of what life would be like without you in it. I'm afraid of what I would do if I blamed myself for anything bad happening to you._
> 
> _I understand if you're angry with me. I understand if you hate me for this. I understand if you can never forgive me for leaving your side. I understand because I hate myself for this, but if doing this protects you from harm, I'm willing to bear that hatred. No matter what you think of me for this, I love you. Even if your feelings for me fade away, I will always love you._
> 
> _Forever and always yours,_
> 
> _Marian_

The words on the page spun for a moment, Fenris' knees feeling weak as each line cut him deeper than a knife. The coldness in his chest, the dread in his limbs, turned to fiery rage and he roared, slamming his fist into the wall, the letter gripped tightly in his other hand. Orana squeaked and ducked behind the door frame, but Fenris took no notice. It wasn't until his hand went numb, blood and lyrium smudged and splattered against the wall, that he realized just how much he hurt. The physical pain was negligible: he had experienced worse. His chest felt empty, as though his heart had stopped beating, and he dropped to the floor, cradling the letter as though it would bring him some comfort. It was a gaping, jagged hole in him, agonizing his every breath, pulsing waves of pain until he thought he would break.

Hawke had been by his side since he had come to Kirkwall. Even during the three years when their relationship was a taboo subject, she was still there, close enough for him to touch. Now... she was just... gone. He wanted to be angry. He wanted to feel the rage he had felt for Danarius. He wanted to feel _something_. Nothing came, not even disappointment. Hawke, with her smiles that eclipsed his sun and her reassuring touch that made him forget all his pain... He couldn't find it in himself to hate her.

He loved her far too much to hate her. He loved her so strongly that it could never fade away. She meant everything to him, and it only hurt him more.

"Maker's breath, Fenris." Aveline's voice, winded from running, startled him out of his reverie. "Now I see what she meant."

"Meant what?" he rasped, not having realized that he had yelled himself hoarse.

Instead of answering him, she held out a piece of paper to him, identical in size to the one he was holding. Again, Hawke's scrawl greeted him.

> _Aveline,_
> 
> _I'm heading out of Kirkwall on business. No idea when I'll be back. Look after Fenris for me, make sure he doesn't do anything either of us will regret later. You can lecture me about it when I get back, but I need this. Protect him from himself and from what I've done to him. I owe you big time._
> 
> _Hawke_

"It was on my desk," Aveline explained, having caught her breath. "Apparently, Hawke delivered it herself not long after we left for the Coast."

"And?" Fenris could feel his chest throb, feel the ache as the edges of his emotional hole tore a little further.

"Fenris, you need to get a hold on yourself. Falling apart like this isn't what Hawke wanted-"

" _She's not here_!" he snapped, turning the full force of his glare on her. Aveline stood her ground under the force of it, to her credit. " _What does it matter if she wanted this or not when she's not here_!"

At this, Aveline could only manage a sigh. "She'll be back."

Fenris scoffed and stood up, wobbling slightly before he pushed past her to the front door, the first letter clutched desperately in his hand.

"Fenris." Fenris glanced over his shoulder, Aveline leveling her firm gaze at him. "She'll be back. You know she will."

"Right," he grumbled, scoffing again. "It'll be her turn to find me when she does. _If_ she does." Without waiting for a response, he headed out into the streets, folding the letter up. Maker, he needed a drink.


	28. Confrontation (Hers)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Guilt hurts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Geez, Skyhold is huge.

Corypheus.

Hawke hadn't been expecting to see that name in Varric's letter, let alone the words that followed it. Corypheus was alive, leading an army of red lyrium templars and a _dragon_ against the Inquisition. She had been keeping her distance from the Inquisition, not wanting to get drawn into another conflict with templars and mages, but if Varric trusted them enough to contact her, she knew she could risk it.

Skyhold was huge, almost labyrinthine, yet everyone was too busy fixing things or delivering things to notice her, even in her Champion armor. There was no doubt that the Inquisition was organized. Despite the chaos of Haven and the impending war against Corypheus, the people all seemed collected, hopeful. Varric had mentioned that the woman leading them, the elf who survived the explosion at the Temple, inspired everyone. That was praise enough for her.

Hawke caught a glimpse of the Inquisitor before Varric introduced her. She was certainly an elf, creamy brown hair and olive eyes, and she held herself with the bearing of a leader, much like the Hero of Ferelden had. When Hawke stepped forward to meet her, their handshake was cordial and firm. Elyn, she insisted; she was unused to her title, just as Hawke had been when they started calling her 'Champion'. After some discussion, Elyn agreed to help her find Stroud, whom she had lost contact with not long before Varric's letter arrived.

"Why exactly are you here alone? What happened to your comrades?" Elyn asked.

"Back in Kirkwall, naturally." Hawke felt her chest tighten. "Merrill is looking after the elves in the alienage, Bethany is taking care of helping the mages still in the city, and Aveline is... well, Aveline."

Varric chuckled. "Sounds like she never changes. What about Broody? Is he still hanging off your smalls?"

"Varric!" Hawke hissed, feeling the heat in her cheeks as she tried to compose herself. Elyn was chuckling behind her hand. "I left Fenris in Kirkwall."

Elyn started a little. "From Varric's book, I was under the impression that Fenris was madly in love with you."

Hawke turned, looking down into the courtyard to hide her shame. "I... Fenris would have died to protect me. I wasn't about to give him that chance, so I left him behind." She let out a deep sigh. She felt horrible about leaving him, but she knew that those words were true. 'Nothing could be worse than the thought of living without you'. She knew that leaving him behind had hurt him, but her fear of losing him, of trying to find an excuse to keep living without him... she couldn't bear it. She had woken up nightly, her dreams filled with images of him suffering and dying to protect her, leaving her sobbing and begging for the warmth of his arms as she curled up alone. Truthfully, she missed him as badly as though he had died, but the thought of him alive, even if he hated her, kept her going. Each day left her empty, devoid of the part of her that Fenris had brought into her life; by the time she had come to Skyhold, she had nearly forgotten what being whole felt like.

"I'm not about to question your decision, Hawke, but I hope you know what you're doing..." Varric mirrored her sigh and bid the two farewell, saying he had 'an angry Seeker to avoid'. Elyn had reassured him that she would speak to Cassandra before he left before a layer of silence fell over the battlement. It was broken a moment later by quiet footsteps.

"I doubt Varric would be so bold as to exaggerate your personality, Champion, with how fondly he speaks of you. I can only guess at the matter that might be troubling you."

Hawke looked up, only somewhat surprised that the newcomer to their conversation knew who she was. He was another elf, pale and bald, his eyes filled with a level of knowing that made Hawke feel as if he were peering into her mind. She broke her eye contact almost immediately, insecure, but Elyn greeted the man with a warm smile.

"Solas."

Solas returned her smile softly, affectionately, and Hawke felt another pang of guilt burst through her chest. His was a different look, one of a pleased elder looking about the brightness of youth, but even Hawke could see the love there, a love that Elyn reflected back to him in kind. It was a look that Hawke recognized, one that she had made herself a long time ago. Bethany had laughed and joked with her about it then, but to see that look on the face of others now made her ache. She could barely recall Fenris' smile, the curve of his lips... She had known him nearly ten years, but any amount of time away from him was too much.

"You're suffering a great loss."

Solas' voice snapped her out of her moping. "I'm not quite sure what you mean."

"Not in the traditional sense, then. You're lonely."

Hawke's heart sank. She opened her mouth to reply, but the words died in her throat. Solas was staring at her, their eyes locked, and she could see something disapproving in his manner, the slight furrowing of his brow. To took her a moment to swallow, finding her words despite them not being the words she had wanted to say. "You're far too observant. Is that an elf trait, or am I an open book?"

"Possibly a bit of both," he replied, managing a slight smile. Hawke's chest throbbed and she winced in spite of herself. "You have a look I have seen in many of my trips through the Fade, the eyes of a widow who mourns the passing if her husband. You look at me as if comparing me to someone else, very uncertain, and what you see displeases you: not because of an inherent disapproval but because you're looking for someone else."

Hawke bit her lip. "Guess it's the latter, then."

"You bear a heart full of regret, do you not?"

Elyn stepped forward, placing a hand on Solas' arm. "Please, Solas."

Their eyes met again and the pain in Hawke's chest flared. Breathless, she excused herself, heart pounding as she stumbled through the halls of Skyhold to find a secluded place. Once she had found a quiet corner, out of sight and sound, she collapsed to the floor, clutching at her chest as she struggled to breathe. Regret... It had crept up on her, the guilt that she had been suppressing, her heart ripping apart. Fenris, her heart, was gone: she had pushed him away to protect him, to protect herself, but she had only managed to bring both of them pain. She had torn her whole world apart. Squeezing her eyes shut, Hawke let herself unravel, shuddering with sobs that she struggled to contain, holding herself to stop herself from breaking.


	29. Hope (His)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Time waits for no man, so man must chase what he desires

Fenris had drunk himself unconscious the first night and awoken in Varric's room, vomiting up everything up into a bucket in a fit of vertigo. Corf told him he was lucky he hadn't died, but Fenris had brushed it off, content to ignore his warnings. Quickly, he fell into routine, drinking until he passed out in the evenings, spending whatever hours he was conscious during the day wandering Darktown, sobering himself up to the nauseating scent of fish. He had left his greatsword back at Hawke's, along with his gauntlets, leaving him considerably less intimidating. As he had wanted. Slavers from Tevinter had been migrating south, picking on the refugees migrating up from whatever new disaster was looming, and Fenris made himself to be an unassuming target, unarmed and in a perpetual hangover. Any who might target him, thinking him easy prey, were unfortunate and ended up very dead. There were disadvantages, however, as Corf refused to serve him while he was covered in blood, but it was a minor inconvenience.

Every day was the same, week after week, until one morning he woke much more comfortably than usual, feeling soft sheets and a light breeze skimming across his skin. His eyes felt too heavy, too weak, but he forced them open slowly, his chest aching. His vision was fuzzy, but he was greeted by familiar green eyes and black hair. "Hawke?"

"Not quite," came the reply. It wasn't Marian Hawke, but the tone, dripping in sarcasm, was certainly hers.

"Bethany." He blinked a few times to clear his vision, finally seeing where he was. He was in Hawke's room, lying tucked in her bed, with Bethany seated in a chair next to him. The room around him hadn't changed since the last time he had slept there, but it was clean; Orana's doing, most likely. The window behind Bethany was ajar, cool air wafting in past the curtains, the fire out. The door was open and he could hear sounds from the kitchen. "What...?" he managed as he tried to sit up. A pain in his chest flared and he cringed.

Bethany put her hand on the sheets over his torso, trying to ease him back down without touching him. When he lay back, she pulled the sheet down slightly, the reddish-brown bandages around him striking against his skin. "You're an idiot, you know?" Bethany huffed. "What were you thinking, taking on slavers while unarmed?! If Merrill hadn't happened to be down there, you would have bleed out in the streets."

Fenris grunted and turned his head away from her. He didn't want to look at her eyes - Hawke's eyes - judging his actions. He knew he was being reckless, careless, but he had stopped caring. There was no joy, no anger, no shame... nothing. He was empty inside, a shell walking through life without purpose, living each day knowing it would be as blighted as the last. Maybe he had been looking for death. He wasn't about to kill himself: he had tried, but Hawke's face, red with tears, crept back into his head each time. Living without her was far worse than living in slavery had been, having now experienced what it was like to be happy. If his life was ended by the hand of another, at least his suffering would end with it.

"Five times. _Five times_ , you were stabbed. Two in the back and three in the front. It's a wonder I was even able to heal you." Bethany sighed, pressing a hand to her temple. "And you don't care at all, do you?" He didn't reply, so she continued. "You don't care about how much you're hurting her like this..."

"She's not here," he croaked, his wounds throbbing. They were mostly healed, but they still hurt. He didn't even remember what had happened.

Bethany stood up and leaned over him, forcing herself into his line of vision. Her scowl, so much like Hawke's, was righteously angry. "She may not be, but I know she'd kill herself if anything happened to you. Not over Carver, Mother, Father, even me. Only you. She wanted to keep you safe."

"I know." He had read her letter time and again until the ink began to fade and the paper tore. She wanted him to be safe because she loved him. That was why it hurt him so much, why he'd wake from his drunken stupor some mornings with tears dried to his face. He loved her, too. The hole in his life brought about by her absence was something only she could ever fill. The gaping emptiness in his chest shuddered, free of the lethargy he had drowned himself in, and he bit his lip as his wounds sent a wave of pain through him.

"You don't know, the way you keep throwing yourself into danger like that."

"How long...?"

Bethany sat down again, somewhat contented that her little tirade had gotten through. "Four days. You were in and out for the first two and slept all of yesterday, so I'm not surprised." She changed gears suddenly. "A letter arrived from Varric this morning."

Fenris sunk back into the softness of Hawke's bedsheets, feeling them lightly dust across his bare skin. "She's not here."

"It's addressed to you."

One of his eyebrows raised, curious. Though they had gone on jobs and played Wicked Grace numerous times, Fenris had never thought the dwarf considered him one for friendly letters. Concerned as to what would prompt Varric to write to him, hands trembling with the dread of what he might see, he took the letter Bethany handed him, still sealed. It was light, a single square of paper with four simple lines written on it in Varric's hand, clean and concise.

> Elf,
> 
> Skyhold in the Frostback Mountains, Ferelden.
> 
> Get here before she leaves again.
> 
> \- Varric

Fenris stared at the words, his mind racing as his heart soared, having already pieced the short message together.

Hawke.

Hawke was there, with Varric. Whatever she had left for, their paths had crossed, and Varric, as if he had known, was calling him back to her side. He would find some way to repay the dwarf for this, but he knew he had to move quickly.

He sat up abruptly, gritting his teeth as fresh pain ripped through his body. Bethany was standing again, trying to get him to lie down. "You're not ready to get up yet!"

Fenris hissed, handing the letter to her. She took it with one hand, the other holding him down, her eyes widening as she read. "She's there. I have to-"

"Not yet, you aren't," Bethany retorted, turning a glare on him that softened into a knowing smile. "Cooperate and you'll be on a boat to Ferelden tomorrow. Until then, just rest." Fenris made a face and she shook her head. "It'll only take longer if you fight me. Varric is probably doing his best to hold her there, but time is of the essence. The rest of today is all I need, so long as you rest. I promise."

His wounds flared up again and Fenris relented, his heart beating loudly in his ears. Hawke... he would get there as quickly as possible, catch her before she left, and never let her go. The thought of holding her in his arms again soothed him, and he sank back into the bed, winding his fingers into the sheets. She would be there. He wouldn't leave her again.

Bethany gave him a smirk. "I'll have Aveline take care of getting you on your way tomorrow. And," she tossed out, making her way out the bedroom door, "I'll see about getting you some new clothes. You'll want to do something about your hair."


	30. Reunion (Hers)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You don't know what you have until it's gone. But when it comes back...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's where I'll be diverging somewhat. Hawke's abrupt departure irks me a little.

Hawke had never intended to remain in Skyhold for long, but the Inquisition had many matters to contend with, an impending assassination attempt against Empress Celene being foremost. While she waited, Hawke had taken the time to acquaint herself with the Inquisitor's inner circle.

Hawke already liked Elyn, and when the woman wasn't busy being Inquisitor, they would sit in her room and talk about little things like Varric's books and what growing up in a Dalish clan was like. Hawke did her best to avoid Solas, but managed to be polite when Elyn was with them. Her reunion with Cullen had been awkward, to say the least, but he had eventually apologized for the circumstances of their last meeting and thanked her for her help. Iron Bull had been impressed with her defeat of the Arishok and challenged her to a duel. It was called a draw when Cullen declared they were causing too much of a racket, saying they would bring down Skyhold around them in spite of the repairs. Vivienne pointedly avoided her, which Hawke was more than happy to oblige. Cole and Sera were strange ones, but she took each of their personalities in stride, even if sometimes she wasn't sure if Cole even existed. Cassandra had, as promised, chewed out Varric about lying, to which Hawke had rolled her eyes. When Cassandra had confessed that she had intended to make Hawke Inquisitor, Hawke had laughed, saying that they would have had to reanimate her corpse before she took the job. Dorian had been the most difficult, as she had heard he was a Tevinter mage and made a point to avoid him, but upon learning that he loathed the current Tevinter and wanted to change it, she had chanced a conversation with him. He had corrected her on a number of things as he explained his vision for his homeland, and in turn, Hawke had recounted her meeting with Danarius, to which Dorian had nodded and laughed, telling her that she had done Tevinter a great service.

And then, when everything had started, Hawke thought she might go mad.

"Fenris is going to die," the voice in the Fade had spoken, sending a chill down her spine. The words had struck her like a hand across the face. _FenrisisgoingtodieFenrisisgoingtodieandit'sallyourfaultandyoucandonothingtosavehim..._ Only Varric's hand on her arm stopped her from losing her mind right there. Still, it set her on edge, knowing that the Nightmare had reached into her heart and plucked at that which was most precious to her.

When the Nightmare - it _had_ to be a giant spider, obviously - had stepped between them and the portal, she had elected to stay. Corypheus was her problem, she knew, and she said as much, but Stroud had nearly pushed her along with the Inquisitor through the rift himself. She had argued, but Varric managed to grab her wrist, yelling, "Dying here won't do _him_ any good, Hawke!" The words had frozen her in place, silencing her protests, and both Varric and Elyn had pulled her through.

Stroud had died a hero, and Hawke was left with the Nightmare's words echoing in her mind. _Fenris is going to die_ , it whispered to her, even as the rift closed and the Wardens gathered themselves together. _He will die, helpless and beyond salvation, and it will be all your fault... All yours_. Instead, she had elected to head out again, to keep moving, to keep her mind off the Nightmare's words, voicing her intent to deliver news to the Grey Warden's home. Varric and Elyn together convinced her to make her report to Skyhold in person, insisting that she rest and resupply before heading out. Reluctantly, she agreed, too tired to argue, using what little remained of her strength to push back against the voice in her head.

The trip back to Skyhold felt longer than it was, leaving Hawke plenty of time to wallow in her own self-pity, leaving her frazzled and strained. It surprised her all the more, tired from nights of haunted sleep, when a messenger told the Inquisitor that Hawke had a guest. The two women had exchanged glances before heading off to the main hall. Elyn went in first, drawing the attention of all the lesser nobles and merchants that had gathered there, and Hawke followed after her, feeling her breath catch in her throat.

There was a tall man standing in the middle of the room, white hair pulled back and tied off his face, who turned as she entered the room, voice just loud enough for her to hear.

" _Marian_."

The faded memory of him in her mind did him poor justice, the white lyrium lines stark contrast to his tanned flesh, drawn taut over compact muscles, tensed in agitation. She could see the anger rolling off him, like waves of heat in a desert, eyes pinned to her as he stalked forward. His clothes changed, she noted idly, seeing the tight leather guards that clung to his hands in place of his old gauntlets, the grey and brown shirt bringing out the hazel of his eyes, the emotion there unreadable. He was beautiful, perfect, and it explained away all the excuses she had come up with to justify her memory of him fading: he was too perfect for memory to suffice.

"Fenri-" she opened her mouth to try and greet him, placate the anger that she could feel from him as he approached, but he cut her off, lips hungrily clawing at hers, his tongue sliding into her open mouth. He pulled her in, one arm at her waist, heedless of her armor against his skin, while his other hand tangled itself in her hair, holding her in place. She didn't resist, overwhelmed by the overpowering sense of how _right_ this was, paying no mind to the outraged and disgusted whispers of the other occupants of the room. He was here, he was real, and the absolute way he commanded her to him was all there was. She surrendered herself in his grasp, the taste of him across her tongue, feeding the thirst that she hadn't realized was there. She had wanted him, wanted this, and hadn't known that she did until he was there.

There was nothing in the world except him and her and the warmth he brought straight to her core until her knees buckled, Fenris' grasp the only thing keeping her from melting to the floor. She had wrapped herself so tightly in his presence that she forgot to breathe. He tightened his grip around her and held her to his chest, letting her feel the heave of his chest, listening to the fierce pounding of his heartbeat, reassuring her. His hold was nearly crushing, her arms pinned to her sides, but he brushed his lips through her hair, his breath at her scalp airy like a whisper. It took her a moment to realizing he _was_ whispering, something in Tevene she had never heard before, and found his grip trembling.

Agony clamped down on her heart, hearing the slight wavering in his voice. How could she have left him like that? A letter had been cruel, a command she had never wished to place on him, letting her run off to Maker-knows-where while he was left wanting. She had wanted to protect him, and yet all she had done was hurt him more. Kirkwall was no safer than anywhere else in Thedas, and she would rather be by his side than anywhere else.

"Marian," he whispered, voice suddenly rigid, "Never again. Never leave." It was sharp, an order, staring into her eyes with an intensity that begged challenge.

"Okay," she replied through her haze, tasting his breath across her skin and finding herself unable to argue.

"Get a room!" someone shouted, dragging Hawke back to reality with a jolt. She glanced over to find the entirety of Elyn's inner circle watching them, the woman herself chuckling. The voice had been Dorian's and he inclined his head towards a side door leading to the refurbished bedrooms. Beside him, Varric was smiling, that knowing smile that told her he had arranged the whole thing.

She would thank him later. Whenever that was.


	31. Punishment (His)

Hawke led him to an unused room in Skyhold, a fortress so huge that he had wondered absently how it had remained undiscovered for so long. He followed her, arm still wrapped around her waist, unwilling to let her go, as he ran his eyes over her. She had hardly changed, her hair short and choppy, her impossibly green eyes so bright and full of light... It was almost as though she had stepped out of his memory, and he held her tighter, his heart grappling with the fear that she would vanish if he let go. The taste of her was still on his lips, sweet and familiar as it lingered, so temptingly close that he had to fight back the urge to take her in the hall.

The room was far from extravagant, a simple double bed with a dresser and bedside table, but Fenris didn't care, pressing hungry kisses along her jawline as he locked the door. She staggered a little at his touch, breathless, and he wasted no time dumping each piece of her armor to the floor as he kisses her, devouring each breath as he pushed her across the room. His hands roamed across her skin, feeling out all the familiar curves of her form and the way she reacted to each one, his need for her growing deeper. He pushed her to the bed, discarding his clothes, watching the way she eyed the hardness at his hips. She was beautiful, pale skin flushed red at his touch, the soft dusting of freckles across her nose, leaned back across the bed with her legs spread expectantly. Primal desire stirred in him, his need for her throbbing in the cold air, but he had other plans.

He loomed over her, running his hands along her sides as he nibbled at her plump lower lip, doing his best to ignore the way she fumbled with her legs to pull him in as he yanked her arms over her head and lashed them together with the belt from his breeches.

Hawke blinked, confused, looking up at her hands. She wiggled her fingers, then her wrists, unable to pull herself free. She eyed him curiously. "This is new."

He hummed, brushing his tongue across her lips. "Think of it as... punishment." She blanched slightly, shrinking in on herself underneath him, but he ran his palm soothingly along the underside of her arm. "You were right to think I'd be angry, _Amatus_ , so I figured some... revenge was in order." He detangled himself from her legs, pushing her further onto the bed before he began.

Fenris ran a calloused finger along the skin of her inner thigh, listening to the moan it elicited with pleasure. Pinning her other leg to the bed, he began running his lips along the silky skin there, placing soft kisses in between nips that made her voice hitch as she gasped out his name. She begged, the sweet fragrance of her need intensifying, but he ignored it, content with what he was doing as she got closer and closer to the edge. When she reached down to relieve herself, however, he caught her hands and held them, letting his tongue trail across the skin at her knee.

She let out a whimper, thrusting her hips in his direction. He chuckled. "Patience. This is punishment, remember?"

He held onto her, keeping her still as she struggled against his grip, the loud pulse in her leg against his cheek. She was scowling at him and he smiled back crookedly, watching her face falter and her cheeks turn red. She radiated her incomprehensible warmth, her hips twitching occasionally as she wound down, snarling a little at the unattended knot in her core. The smell of her, moist and sweet, was almost enough to drive him over the edge, but he clawed his way back, sliding up under her arms to cup the soft mounds of her breasts. Supple, untouched flesh surrendered to his touch and she let out a moan tipped with his name that sent electricity down his spine. He spread his fingers across them, her nipples nestled between his fingers, he lightly pushed down against her chest, experimentally, and she responded, arching and pressing back against him with a shudder. Pleased, he continued in a gentle massage, licking and nipping at each pert nipple in turn as she quaked underneath him, listening to the loud gasp as he took one pink nub between his lips and sucked on it firmly.

Their interactions were a dance, as they had been before: skin-to-skin, following the lead of the other to a rhythm that they set for themselves. It was safe and familiar, making him burn a little with shame and barely-restrained arousal as he stopped, feeling the whimper in her chest as he once again denied her release. Instead of glaring at him, she let out an exasperated sigh. "At least let me do something, Fenris." She eyed his throbbing erection.

He cringed, settling his face against the plane of her stomach, feeling each and every breath that rattled through her form. "It's punishment for myself," he muttered, unable to look at her as he spoke, "for being so stupid without you." He had drunken himself into a pit, thrown himself into dangers to feel alive, and hated himself every second she was away. Varric's letter had been his only ray of hope, his only chance, and he had taken it without question, wanting nothing more than her. To see her again, to hold her, to tell her all the things about her that he loved, to see the radiance of her smile and the laugh that made his heartbeat flutter. She was everything, and without her, he had been nothing.

The silence that followed his words was broken by the twitch of her skin under him, the tiny sniffle that snapped through his wallowing and made him look up. Hawke, brilliantly beautiful Hawke, was crying, fighting to contain sobs as tears trickled down her cheeks. Before he could register _why_ she might be crying, she was scooped up in his arms, her bound hands laid across the nape of his neck, whispering soft sounds into her hair as he wiped at her tears with his thumbs. Then she told him. He listened patiently as she told him everything, from the dangers the red lyrium and the dangers it posed him to her trip to the Fade and the words the Nightmare had spoken to her. She spoke through broken sobs and waves of tears, but he listened patiently, wiping away the wetness at her eyes, now knowing what the dark circles of unrest on her face meant. When she finished, sniffling, he caressed her cheek with her fingers, feeling the softness of her lips against his wrist, trailing delicate kisses along the edges of the crimson band, the token he had worn for nearly a decade at her side.

"I understand why you couldn't tell me," he whispered into her hair, sliding his lips down to her forehead, "and why I would not have listened. I understand your fear."

"And you're here," she sniffled back, a sad chuckle escaping her. "That means I failed pretty badly, huh."

Fenris pressed a chaste kiss to her brow. "I'm here because I want to be. I'm here because being without you is worse than dying." She sniffled and hiccuped. He braced her shoulders, not wanting her to cry. "What I don't understand," he continued, tilting her chin up to meet her eyes, staring back at her with an intensity that made her shiver, "is why you would take the words of some blighted Fade creature over mine..." Hawke recoiled slightly, either in fear or in shame, before he realized he had raised his voice higher than he had meant to. He placed a kiss on her lips, dragging his tongue cross hers as she breathed with him. "You are mine," he growled, low and full of desire, "and that's all that matters."

He could feel her pulse against his neck, pounding loudly. "Okay."

"I don't think I heard you, _Marian_." He hissed out her name, hearing her hesitation, and sank his fingers into the pliant skin on her rear, pulling her until his rigidness was sandwiched between them.

She moaned, her face buried at his collarbone, panting as she trembled at the touch of his heated skin. "Yes, Fenris, yes. Oh, Maker, Fenris, I'm yours, all yours, only yours..." She curled against him, legs sliding around his waist to hug him while her arms could not. "Just... don't be stupid unless I'm stupid with you." The tiny concession brought a smile to his face, finally reaching behind his head to untie her hands. Free, she ran her rough, battle-worn hands along his cheeks, eliciting a groan from him.

He was through holding back. "Marian."

"Fenris." Her smile was his sun, his moon, the stars in his heavens.

He felt the crooked smile on his lips, felt the tingle of her excitement radiating through her skin. "You're not leaving this room for quite some time."


	32. Affirmation (Hers)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Persona 5. I planned to finish this almost a month ago, damnit. Why you so good?

Over a day and a half.

For over a day and a half, Hawke had lost herself in Fenris (or rather, he in her), enjoying nothing more than him: his company, his voice, his touch, his warmth... Maker, was it worth every second. She had missed him. She had missed so much of him. His hair was longer, unkept. She had meant to cut it before she left, but it had slipped her mind. She was glad she hadn't, loving the way the long strands bushed across her skin, feather light touches ghosting against her cheeks. He had new scars, and she ran her fingers over each, loving the way he breathed his apologies into her neck with each one she found. Mostly, she had just missed _him_ , this man who loved her and wanted nothing more from her than to spend his days at her side. People expected her to be Champion, to be the hero Varric painted her as in his book, but Fenris just wanted her - Marian Hawke - as she was. And he had _wanted_ her.

She never got tired of the way he touched her, tasted her, the feel of his skin or the way he made her quiver in desire for him. If she had the mind, she would have counted how many times they came, each other's name on their tongues, winding down with kisses and weary limbs only to start up again when one of them found the other aroused. When they had finally - mercifully - both been unable to continue, Hawke was sore, tired, and utterly pleased. The fullness inside of her, the ghost of Fenris' heat at her core, left her content; even more so when he curled up at her side, tucking his face against the side of her head, the tip of his nose at the base of her jaw, whispering affections until she drifted off to sleep in his arms.

She was awoken by the sound of the bedroom door unlocking, jerking into a half-seated position, Fenris' arm caught around her waist. Light streamed in through the open door, blindingly bright, and Fenris growled, rolling onto his stomach to hide from the sun. It took a moment of squinting at the shadow moving across the room before she realized it was Varric, grouchily sorting their external clothing into respective piles.

"Varric, you could at least knock before you lockpick the door," she sighed, her throat dry. Thankfully, she had pulled the sheet up to cover herself, aware that she was blushing slightly.

"No can do, Hawke. Ruffles is calling and she wants you and Broody downstairs."

Hawke wracked her brain. Ruffles? "Josephine? What would she want with us?"

"Inquisition's almost ready for thwarting that assassination on the Empress." Varric hissed as he tried lighting a lamp and almost burnt himself, getting it on the second try. "The way Ruffles figures, we need all the people we can get on the inside, and why sneak people in when the Champion of Kirkwall can just waltz right in? You've been officially invited."

"By the Empress? ...I can't Varric. Weisshaupt, remember?"

"Already taken care of. Sent a messenger with a full report off after Adamant."

It took a moment for Hawke to process just what he meant, feeling a chill of rage seething under her skin. " _Varric_..."

Varric returned her scowl levely. "Hawke, you've been working too hard. Between Kirkwall, the red lyrium, and this Corypheus business, not to mention the Inquisition, you're being dragged every which way and you don't seem the least bit concerned by it. I know you, Hawke, well enough to know when you need a break. You and the elf... you two are good for each other. That's why I wrote him to come here: you need all this weight lifted off your shoulders." He managed a grin. "Maker knows I'm too short for that."

Beside her, Fenris made a grunt of approval, shifting himself closer to her, his arm still wrapped around her waist. She could feel him brushing the pads of his fingers along the skin at her side, tantalizing, making her nearly let out a moan of delight, but she was exhausted. Varric was right, as usual: she was carrying the problems of all Thedas on her shoulders, telling herself it was fine, when all she wanted was to hold on to the people she loved. It was hard to deny, especially when one of them was so insistent on making his presence known.

Hawke managed a smile. "You got me there, Varric. Tell Josephine... tell her I'll be down shortly. I won't be attending alone, will I?"

Varric chuckled. "Her Inquisitorialness has an invite as well, and Chuckles is her date." Elyn and Solas, Hawke's mind filled in. "And I've been invited as well."

"Of course, Bianca will accompanying you," Hawke supplied slyly.

"Much as I love her, I doubt the Empress would be as entertained with my unorthodox romance as everyone else is. I'm taking Seeker."

Hawke barely contained her laughter. " _Cassandra?!_ "

"Political connections, Hawke," he replied, scowling. Shaking his head, he turned to leave, stopping in the doorway. "Elf, Ruffles is gonna want you down there too, unless you _like_ the idea of your woman getting swept up by some snooty Orlesian nobles." With a wave over his shoulder, Varric closed the door behind him, leaving the couple alone again.

Dreading the coming hours - likely filled with etiquette and finery - Hawke made to get up, her sore muscles protesting, until she realized she was being pulled backwards toward the center of the bed. She tried to shift, but the warmth of Fenris' breath at the small of her back made her stop, sighing quietly as his lips kissed at the base of her spine, velveteen soft. She flinched, however, when he began drawing his tongue lower.

"Fenris, please. Now is not the time."

Fenris grunted noncommittally, rumbling against her core. He didn't release her, instead pulling her back flush to him, cradling her against his chest, kissing along the side of her arm.

"Fenris... or do you want me to get swept up by snooty Orlesians?" She cracked him a smile, joking. He froze against her skin, unmoving, his mouth drawn into a thin line against her shoulder. "Fenris...?"

Suddenly, he shuddered and withdrew, rolling away from her to curl up on his side of the bed, facing the wall. Hawke barely managed to sit upright, startled by his retreat, nibbling on her lower lip as she stared after him, watching the muscles of his back shift under his skin.

"Fenris...?"

She heard him huff out a sigh. "I... find myself growing weary of this chase..."

A painful throb emanated out from her chest. His words cut at her heart, deeper than even Meredith's sword. She had steeled herself for this, knowing that she had hurt him with her departure, but to hear the words after he had taken her time and again, to hear it in the voice that was a symphony to her ears, with which he had moaned her name into her flesh, made her feel empty. Alone. She would have done anything to make him take those words back, sobbing apologies to him until she was mute, if she could hold him again and tell him how much he meant to her. Her head swam, eyes stinging with tears that refused to show, biting back sobs. "I... understand... if you... tire of me..."

With an abrupt shifting, Fenris was beside her, his warmth enveloping her as he pulled her to him, gingerly stroking his fingers through her hair. It was reassuring, the safety of his arms, but the tears came unbidden, her frame wracked with sobs. He held her through the entire episode, silent and steady, until she calmed enough for him to press a kiss against her damp cheek. "I could never tire of you, love."

His words brought her up short, the pain in her heart hitching like a stolen breath. "Then what...?"

"It... angers me... that I must continuously prove myself to others in regards to you. It feels... disheartening. Were I to have my way, I would hide you away and keep you all to myself." He kissed her temple, letting her feel the smile on his lips, his crooked smile that he reserved for her. "I've half a mind to kill anyone who so much as glances at you. I doubt anyone would miss a few blighted Orlesians."

"I think the Empress might take offense to the blood on her carpets," Hawke joked back, smiling at the rumble of laughter that emanated from his chest. "Fenris... I'm sorry." He shifted, pulling back enough so that their eyes could meet. She stared back at him, lovingly, reading his face before she continued. "I'm sorry that you feel like you need to prove yourself. But, to quote your own words, 'you are mine and that's all that matters'... right? I'm yours, Fenris, and I always have been." She stopped to trace her fingers along his arm, lingering at the crimson at his wrist. "Long before you started wearing this..."

The eyes that stared back at her were full of emotion, raw and unfettered, pure and untamed. Hawke had always loved his eyes, loved the way they spoke when he didn't, loved the way the colours swirled together, loved the sparks in them that told her how he felt when his face didn't. She could see them love in them, equal parts tender and possessive, perfect and entirely hers, and she loved him all the more for it. It felt as though her heart would burst, unable to contain the love she felt for him.

His lips were soft against her cheek, his hair brushing along her nose, making her giggle as he held her. "I am yours," he whispered, his voice making the hair on her arms tingle in excitement, "as I always have been. As I always shall be."

"So long as you desire it, my love," she muttered back, pressing a kiss along his jaw. "We better get down there, before Varric or anyone else comes to get us. I don't particularly feel like sharing this sight-" She ran her fingers delicately along the lines of lyrium trailing down his chest "-with anyone else."

Fenris gave a contented shudder under her touch, moving her hand from his chest to his mouth, placing small kisses along the pads of her fingers. "You truly plan on going?" She had made her distaste of formal events known time and again, so his question didn't surprise her.

"As much as I'd like _not_ to... I can't exactly turn down an invitation from the Empress. Besides, as Varric said, this whole party thing is where Corypheus is planning an assassination, and if I can help, I will. Corypheus is my problem. Even if I can't take him on myself, I want to do what I can to help." She paused, biting her lip. "Is that... okay?"

"On two conditions."

"Which are?"

Fenris' gaze was serious, leaving no room for negotiation. "First: I'm coming with you, no excuses. You may protest to my safety as much as you wish, but I would rather risk myself at your side than waste away with my misery at the bottom of a wine bottle. Besides, I'm not going to let any snotty Orlesians think they can walk away with what is mine." His eyes flashed fiercely possessive, his hold on her hand tightening slightly. "Second: If the situation gets unreasonably dangerous, I get to decide if we leave. Protest all you like, but I will carry you out of there if I so much as think you're in danger. Am I clear?"

Hawke could only smile, heart overflowing. How could she have ever thought to live without him, without the blanket of affection that he draper her in? How could she have been so selfish to think that being without him would make things easier? His eyes narrowed at her silence and she chuckled, snuggling back into his embrace. "Crystal clear." He enveloped her, smothering her forehead with kisses, and there was nowhere in all Thedas she would rather be.


	33. Indiscretions (His)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> AU - In which, during the three years between Act 2 and Act 3, Hawke discovers Fenris has been having sex with Isabela, purely for physical pleasure. Cue heartbroken Hawke and protective Varric.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Varric very quickly became one of my favorite characters, so I figured he'd be the one to comfort an inconsolable Hawke. He's like the group dad.  
> Also, I'm starting to throw in some AU ideas because they won't leave me alone. Unless it's marked as such, everything else is part of the main storyline.

By the time Fenris arrived at the Hanged Man, knowing it was the only other place Hawke could be, the inn was empty and he was met by a very angry dwarf wielding a _very_ loaded crossbow.

"Varric."

"Don't think about it, Elf. You're not getting past me."

"She's here. Let me see her."

"Not on your life. You're welcome to try, if you don't mind Bianca finishing the job." Varric's voice was thin, tense, and commanding. Fenris had never heard him talk so seriously before, but considering the situation, he couldn't blame the dwarf for being angry.

Fenris had majorly screwed up.

After their one night together, Fenris had fled from Hawke, both her touch and her presence. He loved her, he could admit that, but the tenderness, the pure affection in her touch had drawn the memories back into his mind, memories that fled as suddenly as they had appeared. He loved her, but the feeling of emptiness their coupling had brought him had been too intense for him to handle, so he had fled. She was beautiful to him, kind and smart, witty and fiercely loyal, and he had betrayed her.

He had fled her kindness, and had turned to Isabela when his physical need had become too great. The pirate was more than willing to help him, of course. Their coupling had been fierce and full of physical passion, causing his skin to flare with pain, but no memories had come, leaving no emptiness in their wake. It had been a relief, a pleasure, and he found himself wanting it more and more. He still loved Hawke, loved her with all his being, but being with her had made him feel chained, tied down to the past he couldn't remember. Isabela's love was purely physical and completely freeing.

Until earlier that afternoon, when Hawke had entered his mansion and found them, Fenris buried to the hilt between Isabela's rear, the pirate's breasts swaying under her in the force of their joining. He had barely caught to look of horror on her face, the tears bubbling up in her eyes, before she turned and sprinted away. He had dressed, chased after her, looking for her in every place she might have gone - Aveline's office, the Amell estate, all her usual favorite places - until, returning to his mansion, Isabela had suggested that Hawke would turn to Varric.

She had been right, of course, if having Bianca pointed at his chest was any indication.

"Dwarf, do not anger me."

Varric huffed. "Don't test me, Broody. I'm the one who's angry. I'm not letting you get even a toe close to her. Not after that."

Fenris ground his teeth together, guilt clawing at his chest. "Varric-"

"She told me everything, Elf. You and her. You and Rivaini. Cried herself to sleep."

"Varric-"

" _Don't give me any of your nug-shit excuses!_ "

Fenris flinched back, never having seen Varric so angry. Not even Bartrand's betrayal had pissed the dwarf off so much.

Varrin ran a hand across his face. "Sit down, Elf. We're gonna talk through this, between men, and then I'll see if I should give you a chance to explain to her just how badly you fucked up."

It took a moment (and a not-so-gentle nudge from Bianca) before Fenris found himself sitting across a table from Varric. He was tense, unsettled by how upset the dwarf was, eyeing Bianca as he set the crossbow on the table in front of him.

"Nothing against you, Fenris, but seriously, you fucked up." Varric let out a sigh. "Hawke's a good kid, loyal to a fault, reckless to a fault, but she's still a woman. Women are sensitive to things like this... except maybe Rivaini. Still," he gestured to the crimson favour around Fenris' wrist, "you know how much she loves you, and you go around doing shit like this? What possessed you to do something like this?" When Fenris didn't answer, Varric continued. "Hawke's pretty fragile on the inside, no matter how tough she tries to be on the outside. You saw what losing her mother did to her. She's a softie. You walking out on her broke her up inside, but she understood that you had your reasons and she waited. She's been waiting for you since that night, and you pass her up? For Rivaini, of all people?"

Fenris clenched his hands together on the table. "It... was not as it seemed."

"Then tell me, what was it? Elf, ever since I let her walk into my life, I've loved Hawke like a daughter. I was honored and humbled - _humbled!_ \- when she told me I was her best friend. I'm not asking you these things because I _like_ prying into these kinds of situations, but where Hawke is concerned, I just want to look out for her."

It took another moment of silence and few creaking floorboards for anyone to speak, and Varric was the one to break it.

"Bianca Davri."

Fenris looked up, meeting Varric's eyes. The dwarf had a wistful smile on his face, reminiscing. "Bianca...?"

"Yup. The woman I named this crossbow after. Only woman I've ever loved. Only woman I ever will. Brilliant smith, witty, sharp, can see through all my lies and see me bluff for bluff. Greatest inventor in all Thedas. Met her through the Merchant's Guild. We keep in touch from time to time, exchanging letters, but beyond that... She's the one woman I can never have."

"Why not?"

"Wasn't meant to be, I guess. Her family hates me. Sends assassins after me every time I try to see her. She's married, politically, too, so there's that." Varric shook his head. "One hell of a woman."

Fenris mulled over his words. "That's the truth?"

Varric chuckled. "I only brought her up because... well, you only ever get one shot at these kinds of things, Elf. Hawke... she's a lot like Bianca: unique. You can search from Par Vollen to the Sundered Sea and never find another. You don't get another chance. When they slip through your fingers, they're gone. Look, whatever you and Rivaini have going on, it isn't worth losing Hawke over. The woman is smitten, you lucky nug-humper, and you're pushing her away. You've got a special place in her heart, a broody elf-shaped hole that only you can fill, and the longer you leave it empty, the more she hurts. She loves you and," he gestured again to the favour, "you wouldn't be wearing that if you didn't love her. So, talk."

With a long, drawn out breath, Fenris slowly explained: the markings, the memories, the emptiness. Varric listened silently, nodding occasionally in understanding, settling down with a frown when Fenris finally stopped. Explaining had taken a lot out of him, more difficult than he had ever known, and by the end, Fenris could feel his nerves fraying. He wanted to see Hawke, hold her hands in his, beg for her forgiveness on his knees. He would do anything, everything, if she was willing to take him back into her life.

"Taking the easy way out, huh?"

Fenris scowled. "I don't want it to end."

"That's not your decision to make anymore." Varric let out a sigh, rolling his eyes at Fenris' glare. "Don't give me that. It's not my decision either. It's up to Hawke now."

"Do you... think she will forgive me?"

"Not sure. The woman is a mystery to me when it comes to you. You bring out the weirdest in people, Broody, and Hawke is no exception."

Fenris scoffed, laying his forehead on his folded hands. After a minute, he let out a growl. "She is... precious to me. I cannot remember having been shown such kindness. I am... undeserving."

"I'm not going to pretend to understand what you've been through. Hawke told me that she wants you to be happy, with or without her, but she wants to be with you, whether she'll admit it or not. She'd jump into a fire for you. That, my friend, isn't the kind of devotion you can beat or torture into someone: you earn it. Once you've earned it... well, you'll have to see for yourself what it takes to earn that back." Varric let out another sigh. "Tell me, Elf. Do you want her to be happy?"

"Yes."

"Do you want to make her happy?"

Fenris bit the inside of his cheek. "I'm not sure if-"

"I'm not asking if you can. I'm asking if you _want_ to." Varric leaned across the table, his gaze serious. "I can see it in you. You've never had the chance to want something. You've lived your life not being allowed to want anything. Slaves aren't allowed to want, right? But you're not a slave anymore. You've got all of us, willing to fight a magister to help you out, and we're not asking for anything in return. No matter what, if Hawke says we fight for you, we'll do it. So, tell me. As a free man, a man who has wants and needs like every other man in this blighted world, do you want to make her happy?"

"...Yes."

"Speak up, Broody. I can't hear you over your brooding."

Fenris growled. " _Yes_. I want her to be happy with me. I want her to be _mine_. I want to hold her and take her and make her mine, and I want to rip out the hearts of _anyone who would try to take her from me_." His gauntlets dug into the wooden tabletop, deep grooves left behind in their wake.

A smirk popped onto Varric's face and he dropped back into his chair. 'Well then, you better go wake your sleeping princess. And Elf? Be gentle with her."

It took a second for him to process the dwarf's words, but when he did, he managed a small smile. The two men had never really understood each other, but Fenris had never been more pleased to have Varric as a friend. He finally understood, if only a little, why Hawke went to him first when she had problems: the dwarf was reliable, and once you got under his skin, he made his decisions with your best interests in mind. With a silent nod of thanks, Fenris stood and ascended to Varric's room.

Hawke - precious and beautiful - was curled up on Varric's bed, a blanket draped over her sleeping form with care. Even from the doorway, he could see the tracks her tears had left down her face, the puffy redness of her eyes, the way her lower lip trembled, as though not even sleep could contain her emotions. She looked small and helpless, wounded, and Fenris had to fight down the urge to cradle her in the safety of his arms. He took a step towards her, one of the floorboards creaking under his weight, and she woke, slowly, blinking unshed tears from her eyelashes.

"Fenris...?" she rasped out quietly, her throat ragged. She gasped, her eyes widening, and she rolled over, turning away from the door, the blanket bunching up underneath her. "Go away." It was a sad mumble, no force behind it.

Fenris cringed. "Command me to go and I shall, but let me say my piece before you do. That's all I ask."

"Why should I?" came the muffled reply.

"Because... should you wish it, I will leave... forever. I will banish myself to the edge of the world should you wish never to see me again."

There was a loud sniffle and silence. "Talk, then..."

Feeling a tiny sliver of hope in his heart, Fenris pulled a chair over to the edge of the bed and sat, Hawke's disheveled mess of hair within reach. He wanted nothing more than to hold her and run his fingers through her hair, whispering soothing words of apology. He wanted to kiss her lips until she forgot what her tears tasted like. He wanted her to _smile_. "I... have not spoken with you about that night. I have been... afraid. The memories... To grasp something I had lost, only to feel it slip through my fingers... To so clearly remember everything... The warmth of your touch, so delicate, awakened them in me. I felt... lost. Empty. It scared me. Being with you... it was everything I had ever wanted and more... but I ran, as I have from everything else. Still, the memory of your touch haunted my dreams, left me needing you but too fearful to seek you out. Relieving it myself was... insufficient."

"So, you turned to Isabela?"

"Yes. I am ashamed to admit it. It was painful, my markings, but... there were no memories, no void left in my mind. It... helped." He drew a shaking breath, his hands trembling. "It helped, but it was not enough. You consumed my thoughts and dreams, filled my sensations, overpowered me. So I sought her help again."

"Does she know?"

"Yes. She told me, after the first time, that I spoke your name throughout. I wished... I wanted it to be you... She brought me physical relief, but my heart is yours." He let out a dry laugh. "To think, I would escape the chains of slavery, only to willingly bind myself to another."

Hawke turned, just enough for their eyes to meet, and he could see the anguish in them. "I don't... want you to be... a slave to me..."

He shook his head. "You are nothing like Danarius, I assure you. He brought me pain, forced me into obedience, but for you... Marian, I wish to be by your side - willingly. That is... It's what I want. Not as a slave to his master, but as a man to the woman he loves, I desire nothing more than to remain at your side. Should you allow it, of course. If I have caused you pain, I will leave."

" _No!_ "

The sudden volume of her response, her voice cracking, startled him. She twisted, latching onto him, suspended between him and the bed, clinging to his tunic. He could feel her fingers quivering, straining in their hold, as a sob sent shudders through her. He held her, cradling her, pressing his lips into her hair, rubbing her back in long, languid strokes of his palm. He felt completed, holding her so close, her scent filling his senses, her presence filling his own. He soothed her until she stopped crying, listening to her sniffles against his jaw.

"Don't leave me, Fenris. Don't leave..."

"I am here. I am yours, Marian. Always. I'm sorry my actions hurt you."

She sniffled louder. "Just... promise me you won't do it again, okay?"

"I'm am yours, and yours alone. On that, you have my word."


	34. Desolation (His)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> AU - Fenris arrives at Skyhold to find Hawke. She never made it out of the Fade.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This would take place instead of the latter half of chapter 30 of this fic. Just a little thing.

Skyhold, as Bethany had warned him, was freezing. He wasn't used to the Fereldan cold - he had barely adjusted to the winters in Kirkwall - so he shivered, pacing to keep his blood pumping through his toes. It was impatience as well. Hawke, his beloved Hawke, would be returning here. Varric had told him. He would get to see her again, hold her in his arms and tell her how much he missed her. Only the thought of Hawke kept him going, giving him meaning, giving him purpose. He had suffered in her absence, nearly gotten himself killed, but Hawke kept him alive. He would see her again.

The people of the Inquisition had told him that Hawke had accompanied the Inquisitor to Adamant, the Orlesian fort of the Grey Wardens. Judging by his absence, Varric had gone with them. Fenris scoffed: of course Varric would go wherever Hawke went. There was no estimation of when they would return, however, which only added to his agitation.

After a few days, they returned, looking uncharacteristically solemn.

Varric had blanched the moment Fenris caught his eyes, seemingly determined to avoid speaking to him. Fenris chased after him. "Varric, where is she? Where's Hawke?"

The dwarf stopped, shaking his head. "I'm sorry, Fenris. She's... Hawke's gone."

Dread, sharp as a knife, stabbed through his chest, his heart growing cold. "Where is she?" He refused to believe it.

"She's gone. She's... We lost her. We went into the Fade and she... she never came out."

A shudder tore through him, unaware that everyone else in the Inquisitor's party was staring at him, their own expressions as dower as Varric's. Snarling, Fenris snapped, grabbing Varric by the collar and pinning him against a stone wall. " _Don't lie to me! Where is she?!_ " His markings flared bright blue, bright as his temper, and for a split second, something ghosted across him. It startled him, making him drop Varric and stumble backwards. A few of the soldiers grabbed him, pinning to the ground, tying him up despite Varric's coughed-out protests, but Fenris was too stunned to care.

Beneath the hum of his markings, he thought he had felt Hawke's presence.

* * *

Fenris spent a day in Skyhold's prison, during which Varric told him the whole story. The red lyrium, Corypheus, the Grey Wardens being tricked into using blood magic, and the subsequent physical trip through the Fade. The dwarf choked up along the way, forgoing his usual embellishment of details, and ended the story to complete silence. Fenris had nearly stopped breathing.

Hawke was gone.

He would never see her again.

He would never tell her how much her departure had hurt him... how much her absence agonized him.

Hawke... Witty, loyal, beautiful, smiling Hawke.

The light was gone. Now, encased in darkness, Fenris had nothing. No family, no Hawke, no future...

Varric had muttered some apology and left, but Fenris didn't hear him - couldn't hear him. He sat in the dark, knees pulled to his chest, his mind blank.

When they went to release him the next morning, he stood without a word, his expression vacant, and left Skyhold. No one spoke to him, no one stopped him. Fenris did the only thing he could do: he walked.

With no destination in mind, he walked. He trudged through the snow, too broken to care that his feet were freezing. He walked, no care to his lack of appetite despite not having eaten in a day, his lack of water, the lack of warmth. He walked, on and on, until he could walk no more. Half-frozen, starving and dehydrated, Fenris collapsed face-first into the snow and refused to move.

All at once, his chest rippled with emotional pain and he came back to himself, shuddering and sobbing. He had told her once that nothing could be worse than living without her, that he couldn't bear the thought of losing her, and yet, here he was, well and truly alone. Hawke had left him, as he had feared she would, and she was never coming back. It gnawed at him, but he couldn't care. He hated it, but he couldn't feel that hate. He was numb, both physically and emotionally. Whimpering, he clawed at his chest, unable to cry, his entire being drained. His markings flared as he reached inside his own chest, trying to find what was wrong with his heart, when he felt the ghost of a hand on his wrist.

_Fenris._

He jerked back, thinking he was hearing things on the wind, his markings dying down. The voice he had heard, speaking his name, he sounded suspiciously like Hawke's...

Experimentally, he tapped into the power of his markings, the glow filtering out over the snow. This time, he felt something warm brush across his face.

_I'm here, Fenris._

"Hawke..."

The warmth was at his lips, his ears catching the sound of laughter. _I'm with you, Fenris._

All Fenris could do was lay back in the snow and sob. "This isn't a joke, is it?"

_I'm afraid not. I wish it was, but it's not._ He could feel the warm smile against his skin.

The markings he had hated, the agony of his life, were now the only connection he had to the woman he loved. "I miss you."

_I'm always with you, Fenris. I'll never leave your side, never._

Snow began to fall, the soft flakes peppering his skin, too numb to feel the cold. Slowly, he closed his eyes, letting the snow bury him, surrendering himself to the ghost of Hawke's touch.

_I love you, Fenris. We'll be together again soon, I promise. I'll wait for you._


	35. Contentment (His)

Adjusting to the bustle of the Inquisition was stressful, Fenris realized, when Hawke had sat him down before they left the room, telling him about all the people he would have to look out for. It felt like she was scolding him, but he understood why when she began listing off the people he should probably avoid.

"Sera is... weird. Cole is... I'm not exactly sure what he is, but if things start happening that you don't recall, it's probably him. Try not to get into arguments with Solas: in fact, probably avoid him all together. He's a mage, yes, but when he doesn't have his head shoved into the Fade, he's making eyes at the Inquisitor and that woman is not someone _anyone_ would want to be on the wrong end of. I happen to like her, too, so there's that. And... Dorian." She had stopped, making an uncomfortable face.

Fenris quirked an eyebrow. "I suppose that's a bad sign..."

Hawke had laughed sheepishly, taking his hands into her own. "Believe me, it is. Frankly, I'm terrified you might kill him."

"Why...?"

"He's a mage... from Tevinter." He had made to stand up, but Hawke's grasp on his hands tightened. "I know, I know! Just... listen for a second." When he was seated again, seething with rage, she continued. "He's here because he knows how fucked up everything in Tevinter is, and all he wants is to change it. He wants to make it a homeland he can be proud of, not one that the rest of Thedas spits on. He knows it's a difficult task, that it'll take a lot of time, that a lot of people are his enemies because of it, but he's willing to risk his life for it." Her words hadn't soothed his anger, but she smiled up at him. "When I told him about how you killed Danarius, he said that you deserved a medal. He was positively thrilled."

Begrudgingly, Fenris promised not to kill anyone from the Inquisition, though he had assured her that if he did, it wouldn't be without due cause. Her delighted smile made his heart melt.

Josephine, as the proper Antivan woman was introduced, had dragged Hawke off into another room to meet with a seamstress, emerging a few hours later with an exhausted Champion at her back. Fenris had been slightly frantic until Hawke guided him back into the room with her, helping the seamstress go over his measurements. The dainty Orlesian woman told them, when her work was done, that the finished garments would be ready for them at the ball. The day had wound down with the pair of them in bed, too tired to do anything more than drift off to sleep in each other's arms.

Less than a week after his arrival to Skyhold, Fenris found himself leaving it, more content than when he had arrived, leaving with the Inquisitor and her group to prevent an assassination. Of all the people in the Inquisition's inner circle, Fenris found himself liking the Inquisitor herself most. The woman had met him with a nod and a smile, let him keep to himself, and when she did speak to him, the night before they left, she had merely said that she understood what having a power you couldn't explain felt like, waving her glowing hand in example. That unusual comparison, as absurd as it was, somehow managed to make Fenris accept the woman, mage that she was. Hawke liked her, and they walked together down the snowy path, speaking and laughing together like old friends.

"It's certainly an improvement for her."

The voice intruding into Fenris' solitude belonged to the bald elf, Solas. Fenris had deliberately hung back, watching Hawke from a distance, and hadn't acknowledged Solas' presence until the man spoke. Fenris shifted his gaze, eyeing the other man silently, before returning his gaze forward.

"It's incredible to think that Hawke today and the Hawke from a few weeks ago could be the same person," Solas continued, ignoring Fenris' silence. "It's a marked improvement in her disposition."

"Your point?" Fenris grumbled, keeping his eyes ahead.

"I'm simply impressed how such an unorthodox relationship could spark such a change in her, given the circumstances."

Something inside Fenris pulled, hard, at his nerves, resentment boiling up in his veins. "You pass judgement on something you do not understand."

Solas let out a quiet chuckle. "There is truth in that. Most would look upon your relationship with disgust, but... She was not the woman Varric praised her to be when we first met. Seeing her now, it would seem she is only Champion with you at her side."

Fenris was about to snap something in reply, but Hawke's laughter, her voice animated and full of emotion, distracted him long enough for Solas to slip away. Despite his fury at the other man's words, he kept it to himself, knowing better than to sour Hawke's disposition. Instead, he kept it to himself, stewing over it for the rest of the trip.

* * *

Fancy clothing had never earned Fenris' approval, and the outfit Josephine's seamstress threw together was no exception. In addition to supplying him with unwanted boots, it was tight, constricting his chest and arms. He could barely square his shoulders, let alone lift his arms above his head, making him feel defenseless. He had to leave his greatsword in their lodgings as well, which only added to his discomfort. When he had finished dressing, the fabrics muted blues and shale with white trim, feeling much like roasted fowl, he went to glare at himself in the mirror.

Much to his surprise, the colours suited him, much like the clothing Bethany had picked out for him. _The Frostbacks are cold, obviously_ , she had stated, seeing the look he had given his clothes. _You can't expect to go up there and_ not _freeze to death in all that metal. Besides, I know Marian will love them._ Fenris had grumbled under his breath, but the younger Hawke's prediction had been right: her sister had commented on her good taste, complimenting him with how it brought out the colours in his eyes. The formal attire seemed to do the same - as much as he could tell, his aesthetic taste lacking - but something about his reflection irked him.

His hair.

Fenris had never been picky about his hair. As a slave, he had kept it short; partially because his lyrium branding had necessitated it being short and partially to keep it from obstructing his vision when he fought. When it had grown longer, he had tied it back, forbidden by Danarius from cutting it. The reason... It was a train of thought Fenris refused to go down. After his escape from Seheron, he let it grow unkempt, sheering chucks off with his sword when it got in his eyes. Hawke had trimmed his hair once, insisting on straightening out the uneven edges, but he had never cut it since, secretly loving the feel of her fingers brushing through the strands. Bethany had tied his hair back messily before he left for Skyhold, begrudgingly, but Hawke had done nothing with it - other than occasionally snuggling her face through the strands, content.

Now, his hair had been furiously washed and combed back, tied along his nape and pinned off his face. He felt ridiculous. The pins had been slid in tight, hidden but omnipresent, yanking painfully at his scalp. He wanted nothing more than to yank all of them out, but Josephine, stern diplomat that she was, had laid out her ultimatum: he would live with it, or Hawke would attend the ball alone. The thought alone made him clench his fists, knowing he would rather endure the pain than leave Hawke's side. Still, the reflection seemed to mock him, suddenly making him feel self-conscious of his markings. With his hair pulled so far back off his face, the three dots of lyrium on his forehead stood out against his dark brow.

A knock on the door brought him out of his contemplation. A young attendant, come to escort him to the hall, started slightly at Fenris' appearance, but maintained his calm, taking off again when Fenris joined Varric and Solas. Varric was the first to comment, letting out an impressed whistle. "The elf cleans up pretty good, eh Chuckles?" Solas, mercifully, made no comment. The trio of men, having been left to their own grooming, could only wait. The sound of stumbling footsteps a few minutes later, signal the arrival of the women.

Fenris wasn't sure if he should smile or faint.

Clumsy in heels, Hawke was being carefully lead down the hallway by one of the attendants, clinging to the young man's arm with a vice grip. She was clad in silks, the layers of her soft red skirts hiked up slightly to help her avoid tripping over them. The dress was cut low in the front, in Orlesian style, and extensions of black animal hair had been pinned to make her hair look longer, the smooth ends framing the lines over her neck to rest on the tops of her breasts. For added support, a band of red silk had been tied around her waist, sitting in a neat bow at the small of her back. Someone - likely Josephine - had applied make-up to her face, her lashes darkened to bring out the green of her eyes, her full lips red, a slight blush applied over the bridge of her nose. She looked stunning, and her radiant smile as she met his eyes made his heart flip... a split second before she lost her balance and almost hit the floor, dragging the poor attendant with her. Fenris caught her by the shoulders, helping her back on her feet.

She smiled at him and then scowled, gritting her teeth. "Fenris, I can't breathe."

He quirked an eyebrow at her.

"Explain it to him after he picks his jaw up off the floor, Hawke," Varric laughed, making Fenris blush. He hadn't even noticed the other two women walking behind her: Hawke was his world, and his attention gravitated towards her naturally.

Hawke managed  breathy giggle before she met his eyes again, looking confused. He mirrored her look until she reached up and lightly pressed a finger between his brows. "You look... uncomfortable." He blushed more. She stared at him for a moment more before she pulled off one of her gloves. Pink tongue peeking out at the corner of her lips, she wet one finger on it, dabbing the moist digit across the edge of his hairline. Some strands loosened from their confinement and dropped down over his forehead, partially obscuring it. "Much better," she chirped, putting her glove back on. "Politely disheveled."

Fenris' heart ached with love for her. Without a single word, she had noticed his discomfort with his appearance and remedied it, in typical Hawke fashion. This woman, that had run off without him, still knew how to read him perfectly, and he vowed silently that he would never let anyone change her. He watched her, taking stock of his attire, until her eyes drifted down to his wrist and her face went uncomfortably blank.

He shifted on his feet, knowing what the problem was. "Josephine insisted I wear it under my sleeve," he mumbled. She reached out and pulled her arm to her, slipping her fingers up under the cuff until she felt the worn fabric of her favour, nestled against his skin. Josephine had actually told him not to wear it, saying it might cause undue comments among the guests (in addition to it being frayed and dirty), but he refused to leave it, so they reached a compromise.

Hawke, however, seemed less than pleased, her mouth a thin line of disapproval. Without so much as a word, she reached awkwardly for the bow at her back, drawing the line of silk off her waist. Her fingers deft, she wrapped the length snugly around his forearm and tied it there. Fenris' heart lept at the warmth of her smile, the ease it brought back to her face. Such a simple thing pleased her, but the meaning held more than that. She loved him. He was hers. When he met her eyes again, she blushed, shy and happy.

At once he realized something was off. Reaching out, he ran the pad of his thumb across the bridge of her nose, feeling the dusty cosmetics roll off her skin, the increased intensity of her blush bringing out her soft freckles. He adored her freckles, and had told her so in passing during their trip across Thedas. She had blushed so profusely then that they seemed like splatters of mud across her face. They were endearing, part of the charm that was her face, and she didn't look the same without them.

"Much better."

Hawke managed a giggle and then winced. "This is too tight. I might need you to ghost me out of this later if I'm gonna sleep tonight."

"I can do it sooner than that," he teased, whispering.

"Later, Fenris. Let's get this over with so I can burn this corset and never speak of it again. Then... I might need my ribs massaged."

Fenris laughed. "I think I can handle that. ...You look stunning, Marian."

She blushed again. "I... Thank you."

Absently, he trailed a finger down her neck, following the extensions to her hair down across her chest. "It looks nice on you."

"You think I should let my hair grow in?" she mused, throwing him a crooked smile. He knew she would if he said he liked it.

"Yes. It suits you."

"I know," she huffed. "I used to wear it long, like Beth, but I cut it when Carver and I went to Ostagar. Figured it would make me feel less... vulnerable. Carver said no one would argue with a girl if her hairstyle made her look like she could kick your ass." She lapsed into silence. "It hit the top of the list for 'Nicest things my annoying little brother ever said to me'."

Varric chose that moment to pipe in. "What was top of the list before that, Hawke?"

Hawke threw him a smug smile. "'At least you don't smell like horse shit'."


	36. Acquiescing (His)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> AU: Absolute Boyfriend, or How Fenris Received A Naked Woman in the Mail and Fell in Love  
> Part 1: In which Fenris gets the most bizarre package ever

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Absolute Boyfriend is a manga I read years ago with an interesting premise. A low-income office worker with a bleak love life gets mailed their dream mate, a living doll with emotions. It takes a kiss to activate them and sex to affirm ownership. Hijinks ensue.  
> The manga itself is set in modern Japan, but I figured a modern version of Thedas would work here, so enjoy. I think there'll be three parts to this. Hawke might seem a little OOC for a this part, but I'm working on the idea what she takes some time to adjust to her surroundings.

The man sitting at the table across from Fenris was smiling pleasantly, which immediately set Fenris' instincts into full panic. His week hadn't exactly been enjoyable, and this was just another bump in the road, but he knew from his past that pleasant smiles could often mean unpleasant consequences. There was no indication that this man had good intentions, but if it did anything to help dispel the confusion in the back of Fenris' mind, it was worth listening to the man.

The man extended his hand across the table. "Nice to speak to you." When Fenris didn't return his gesture, he settled back in his seat. "Not one for formalities, huh? Fine."

Fenris bit the inside of his cheek, pulling a slip of paper out of his pocket. Once he unfolded it, he slapped it down on the table hard enough to startle some of the other patrons of the cafe. "Explain this to me." He slid the paper to the man, keeping his own voice level. It was a sheet of normal white printer paper, typed letters across the surface. There was a raised indent in it, messy scrawl on the backside instructing him to this particular cafe. It was evening, the sun having almost completely set, long rays of orange light the last vestiges of the day. The page, crumpled and creased, read:

> _Noblest of heroes,_
> 
> _Your sleeping princess awaits. One kiss will awaken her, and your long solitary toils will end._
> 
> _Don't forget to give her some clothes._

Fenris felt his jaw twitch as the man laughed, obviously amused at seeing the sheet before him. Fenris found nothing funny about the situation. He had received it along with a large parcel that his landlord, Aveline, had helped him carry into his apartment. The parcel itself had been fairly nondescript, but had been quite heavy and unmanageable, along with the multitude of 'FRAGILE' labels inked along the surface, and Aveline hadn't felt comfortable trying to move it by herself. There was no return address, much to his confusion, only adding to the question of what it could contain: he hadn't ordered anything, and he had no relatives to send him anything. When he had it in the privacy of this small dwelling, he had cracked the box open and come face-to-face with a gigantic bundle of styrofoam wrap cradled in packing peanuts. The shape of it made his heart shudder, but the rectangle of paper had caught his attention and he read it, his hands trembling. Finally, gathering himself together, he had pulled back the wrapping at the top and - after a long moment - put the box back together and made his way to the designated location.

Now, sitting here with this man who was trying to contain his laughter, Fenris felt the shudder return to his chest. He wanted - needed - to know why this man who he didn't know thought to mail him _that_.

The man fought back a last snicker. "I can only imagine the look on your face. Shocking, right?"

Fenris grit his teeth. "What kind of lunatic are you? How did you...?"

"From this." The man held up a leather journal, one Fenris recognized instantly: it was his own, the journal he had dropped into a puddle in front of the flower shop across the street earlier in the week. He had been having a particularly bad day, and dropping his journal - the one he used for everything from his sketches to notes for work - was the last straw. Fuming at his carelessness, he had left the journal where it lay, storming off back home to drink himself into unconsciousness. Now, the book was completely dry, as thought it had never gotten wet in the first place, and the man pushed it across the table to him. "You'll forgive me for prying, but I flipped through it while the pages were drying. Imagine my surprise when I saw your drawings! I thought to myself, 'I've finally found one'. I imagine you haven't woken her up yet, but I'm glad I finally found the one for my girl."

Fenris cocked an eyebrow. "Your girl...?" Idly, he flipped open his journal and found himself staring at one of his sketches, a sketch of the woman from his dreams. For years, she had filled his dreams, her smile a bright as the sun, her voice the call of an unknowable songbird, perfect and beautiful and absolutely his. He had drawn her a few times, relishing in the one talent he had, but she never seemed quite right, as if some detail eluded him time and again over the years. Still, he dreamed and he drew and suddenly, there she was, sleeping breathless and pale in her bed of foam peanuts.

The man smiled. "She's mine. I created her. In that sense, I'm her father, I guess." He let out another deep laugh. "I'm Malcolm Hawke, by the way. I'm a scientist. A special kind of scientist, anyway. But yes, I made her. She's my daughter. And now..." He smiled. "She's all yours."

"What...?"

"I know what you must be thinking. 'Why would a man mail his own daughter to a stranger, in a box?' Well, the simple answer is... Because she wanted me to."

Fenris could only quirk an eyebrow.

Malcolm smiled. "It sounds funny, but she asked me to. Well, not in the mail, but I couldn't exactly _carry_ her to your place. She really wanted to meet you."

"Why?"

"That's a question you're better off asking her for the answer." Malcolm stood up, stretching out his back. "Welp, I have to be going. Don't worry about reaching me; I wrote my cell number down on the last page in your book, just in case. Later!" With a casual wave, Malcolm walked off, leaving a stunned Fenris alone at the table. The man was like a hurricane, crashing through whatever he pleased before taking his leave, debris in his wake. Fenris could only dread what his daughter was like.

When he returned home, journal in hand, he sat down on the floor and opened the box again. She was just as he had left her, utterly still and untouched, her skin white and porcelain smooth, short midnight hair framing her quiet face, only a dusting of freckles across her nose to mark her. She was exactly as he had seen her in his dreams, a reflection of the sketches in his journal, but she was real, here, and still as death. _One kiss will awaken her_ , the note read, and Fenris felt himself shift slightly, leaning over the box, bringing his face as close to hers as he dared. She was beautiful, a still doll, her lips parted slightly in expectation... waiting for him. Slowly, as if she would shatter under his touch, he pressed his lips to hers, feeling the velvety softness of them against his, lingering for a scant second before he pulled back, meeting the eyes of the awoken woman before him. As they stared, Fenris realized what his sketches had been missing: the depth of her eyes. There was no way to capture her eyes in detail, deep emerald green like the waters of a tropical island, vibrant and full. They brought out the colour of her skin, the redness of her lips, helped the freckles blend neatly into her face, bringing life to her once-cold appearance.

She blinked, staring at him, and he could only blink back as a delicate smile pulled at her lips. "Hello." Her voice was as he had heard in his dream, a musical tune that only the most precious of creatures could produce, her accompanying smile a ray of sunlight in the night.

Fenris managed to swallow air down his dry throat. "H-Hello."

She chuckled slightly, a sound that made warmth swell in his chest. "It's nice to finally meet you, ah..." She paused. "Fenris, you're called?" His name across her lips was almost magical in the way it captivated him, as if hearing the word for the first time.

"I... Yes. Fenris. I'm..." He sat back, feeling heat flood to his face. "And you are...?"

She shifted, turning slightly in her box to keep her eyes on him, the foam peanuts squeaking against each other as she moved. "Yours," she replied, her smile curling into a smirk. At his flustered muttering, she laughed again. "Sorry, I couldn't help myself. My name is Marian. I really am glad to see you." She shifted again, making to sit up, and Fenris was abruptly reminded of the last line of the note that accompanied her.

_Don't forget to give her some clothes._

Beneath the styrofoam wrapping, Marian was clad only in two long strips of cloth, each tied tightly around her most intimate parts, showing off the delicate contours of her otherwise-naked body. Feeling his face heating up in embarrassment, he grabbed at the first piece of clothing he could find - a sweater he had left draped over the arm of his faded couch - and held it out to her, averting his eyes. "Put this on."

There was a silence before he felt the garment leave his hands and, with the sound of rustling cloth, Marian muttered that she had done as he told her. The sweater was large on her, of course, her slender frame (surprisingly more slender than his own elven frame) engulfed in the muted grey fabric, but it only went down to her thighs, leaving the entire length of her smooth legs open to the air. The sleeves were long, engulfing all but the very tips of her fingers, and she barely avoided slipping back to the floor when Fenris helped her awkwardly to her feet. He then turned to his sleeping area to find something that would fit her as pants.

"Fenris, may I have a drink?"

He shuffled through a drawer of clothing. "Don't drink the tap water. There should be a bottle in the fridge."

He heard the sound of the refrigerator opening from behind him. Marian called out again. "I can't find it."

"It should be on the lower shelf," he replied, mentally discarding articles of clothing. There was a silence, followed by the clinking of objects being moved, and Fenris made the biggest mistake of his life: he turned around.

Standing in the muted light of the fridge, Marian was leaned over, rustling around in search of the bottle, blissfully unaware that the sweater had slipped down her back, leaving Fenris with a clear view. Unable to help himself, Fenris stared, his eyes tracing down from the round firmness of her rear, the puckered opening tucked at their base, to the bright pink slit of her womanhood, framed with curly black hairs. Fenris felt his pants tighten uncomfortably as he stared. His nights with his dream woman had not always been chaste, sometimes filled to the brim with experimental touches and positions, the imagined remembrance of her heat and her lusty gaze leaving him hard and wanting in the morning, but now that she stood before him, innocently bearing her welcoming depths to him, his mind went blank. All he could think of was pinning her up against something and filling her to the hilt, ravishing her until she screamed his name and begged for more. He pushed the thought from his mind, cursing as his pants got tighter, and she straightened up, brandishing her prize.

He tossed her a pair of pants, finally glad he could get the distracting image of her from his mind. He had a lot of questions for her, of exactly who she was and why she had wanted so badly to meet him, but she let out a loud yawn as she finished her drink and he knew he would have to wait. "Sleep on the bed," he told her, going to fish another pillow from his closet.

"Nope," was Marian's curt response, taking his pillow and a blanket to the couch. She plopped herself down, curling up in the fabrics, and was asleep before Fenris could do anything in protest. Instead, he tossed the spare pillow onto his bed and tried to get some sleep, failing miserably at keeping his thoughts away from the woman sleeping in his apartment. He fell asleep to the sounds of her breathing, imagining she was sleeping next to him, waking with the sun streaming across her features. He imagined her smile as his imaginings faded into dreams, the soft brush of her fingertips across his cheek. As he dreamed, the touch of her fingers became someone else's, worn and wrinkled, smiling deviously as they took what they wanted, tearing, bleeding, stabbing...

Fenris herd the whimper that escaped his lips as he woke to the sun, trying to forget the nightmare of a memory that had invaded his dream when he caught an unfamiliar smell. Shrugging himself out of bed, he saw Marian seating herself at his small kitchen table, a warm toasted sandwich in each of the two plates in front of her. She gave him a smile, delicate and sweet, before motioning to the chair across from her. "Good morning." He grumbled, not a morning person, still shaken from his nightmare, and dropped himself into his chair. The smell of melted butter and cooked eggs was intoxicating, enough for Fenris to realize he hadn't eaten since noon the previous day. "You looked like you were having a bad dream, so I figured you wouldn't want me to wake you so suddenly and made breakfast instead," she explained, taking a small bite out of the corner of her sandwich. "I also cleaned up a bit. Those packing peanuts are crafty little blighters. I found twelve of them under the couch."

Fenris took a bite of his sandwich, relishing in how surprisingly delicious it was, unable to remember if he even had eggs in the fridge. "You're not going to ask?" he spoke quietly, not much in the mood for idle talk. From her words, it was obvious he had slept restlessly, and he was surprised they she had dismissed the subject so quickly.

Marian shrugged. "I'm here to listen if you want to talk, but it didn't seem like something you'd _want_ to talk about." She nibbled idly at her sandwich, letting him contemplate the situation. He was grateful to her for not asking, he realized, and grateful for the cleaning she had done. He had never seen himself as a dirty or messy person, but he hadn't realized quite how much stuff he had lying around until Marian had cleaned it. Despite that, their situation was one that needed addressing.

He finished half of his sandwich and folded his hands on the table. "Marian, what exactly are you?"

"I'm a... cyborg? Android? Something," she grumbled, chewing on one of her thumbnails. "I know I'm not _people_ people, but my insides are squishy, I guess, so I'm not exactly a robot. ...Does it bother you?" The question was innocent enough, but it put Fenris on edge.

"That's not why I'm asking."

"But it's what _I'm_ asking. I need to know."

"Why?"

She answered with a slight tilt of her head, as if her answer should be obvious to him. "Because I want to know if that means you won't have sex with me." Fenris was too stunned to respond, his eyes wide as if she had just slapped him across the face. Marian's brow furrowed. "Let me guess, Father didn't tell you anything?"

"He said... to ask you."

She rolled her eyes. "Typical. He's great at explaining things when he can be bothered to do it." She chuckled. "Lemme start at the beginning then. My father, Malcolm Hawke, is a scientist, an inventor. His wife, Leandra, my mother, was born frail. When he fell in love with her, he was told by her doctors that they'd be unable to have sex, let alone have her bear children: attempting it would likely kill her. Instead of letting it deter him, he married her and then turned to his work for a solution. That's how I was 'born'. I'm an artificially-engineered human, built from the ground up, like those crazy sci-fi movies about cloning and stuff, except my brain is a computer that Father made. Part of that basic programming is that I'm temporarily bound to the person who activates me - you, in this case - because you kissed me. That's simple enough. The problem is... if anyone else kisses me, I'll be reactivated by them. I'll follow orders they give me - within reason - and I'm pretty powerless to stop myself. The fix for that is that I have sex with the person I've been activated by. It closes some kind of logic circuits or something technical like that, meaning I can't be reactivated by anyone else. I only get most of the details, but it had something to do with analyzing the unique genetic signature of the person and blah blah blah, so yeah." She cleared her throat. "Basically, I can get passed around like a cheap toy until someone decides they want to own me."

The description sent an uncomfortable chill down Fenris' spine, like a finger tracing down the markings on his back as they had so many times before, stirring up bad memories. _Ownership_ was a word he hated, clawing at him like chains digging into his skin, mocking and sharp like belittling laughter. The thought of owning her brought to his mind an image of her in chains, metal chafing her clear skin red, and his anger flared as the image burned into his mind. Before he could respond, to tell her how little he wanted to be part of such a idea, there was a loud knock at his door, unmistakably Aveline. He stood up to open it, leaving Marian at the table, and when Aveline took one look around, spying the woman over his shoulder, her face darkened.

"I think you'd do well to explain what's going on here..."

* * *

Fenris shifted uncomfortably against the wall, able to hear the ringing sound of the phone even though Marian was on the other side of the room, phone cupped in her hands. Aveline had expected every detail of the situation explained and, finding she didn't like the answers, demanded that Marian call her father. She had brought them to her apartment, down the hall from Fenris' (who didn't have a phone of any sort), so they could speak to him on speakerphone. Of them, Marian seemed the most uncomfortable, having been dragged down the hallway in Fenris' clothes, on the receiving end of Aveline's strict temperament, and was chewing her lower lip as the phone rang, trying to avoid looking at anything but her feet. Fenris wasn't bothering by being in Aveline's apartment: she was the landlady and her second husband, Donnic, was Fenris' coworker. The two men were on relatively good terms.

The ringing stopped and a muffled voice spoke. Marian started, nearly splitting her lip with her teeth. "Hiya Dad." There was a long silence before Fenris heard a shout and several hurried, fuzzy questions. "No, no, I'm alright. Everything is fine." Another muffled question. Marian bit her lip again. "Well, yes and no... It's probably better if I just let you hear it." She pulled the phone from her head and pressed the speakerphone on, the hum of the phone line and the slight rasp of breathing filling the room.

Aveline, who had been tapping her foot impatiently in the middle of the room, stopped her fidgeting, arms folded across her chest. "You're Malcolm Hawke, Marian's father, then?"

There was a moment of silence. "That's correct. And you are...?" The voice was undoubtedly the one Fenris had heard the previous day, and he nodded when Aveline looked to him for confirmation.

"Aveline Vallen, Fenris' landlord." She paused to take a deep breath. " _What in Maker's name were you thinking, shipping your daughter out in a box?! And just what gives you the right to interfere in the affairs of others without so much as a warning?! You think you can just do what you want without regards to others, but I'm not letting you simply walk away from this without understanding the consequences!_ " Marian flinched back as Aveline's voice raised in volume and pitch, cowering slightly, while there was a loud thump and an even louder thud from the other end of the line. Fenris, his hearing sensitive, had already covered his ears, anticipating this.

There was a soft mutter of 'now I'm certainly awake' before Malcolm replied. "Whoa, whoa, calm down. Look, I meant no offence to anyone. Marian wanted to meet him, so I sent her over. I figured there'd be less confusion and misunderstandings, and it was more efficient. No harm done, right?"

Aveline pressed her hand to her temples. "That doesn't make it any less irresponsible. Besides, even if you were considering what your own daughter wants, did you give any consideration to what Fenris might want?"

Malcolm coughed. "I take it you're in the room then?" Fenris shifted slightly, unwilling to respond. Malcolm just chuckled. "That's the response I expected, my man of few words. So tell me, has Marian been giving you trouble?"

Fenris bit his lip. "No."

"Has she been an inconvenience to you?"

"...No."

"Do you dislike her company?"

"... _No_."

"Then what's the problem?"

Fenris shuffled his feet, uncomfortable. "I have had... issues... with intimacy... I... dislike physical contact."

There was a long moment of silence. " _Oh_." Marian curled in on herself a little, as if trying to hold herself together. The sight made Fenris tense, knowing that his admission hurt her. Malcolm let out a sigh. "Let me ask you something - and I need a straight answer on this - ...Do you think you could handle trying?"

The question hung in the air as Fenris wrestled with his thoughts. The nightmare had made him irritable, but looking at Marian, her wide eyes staring at him, he found he couldn't answer. The memories of those horrible touches had tainted him, broken him, leaving him flinching violently away from some of the smallest touches... But Marian was there, the woman from his dreams, living and breathing, as real as he was... "I... I don't know..."

"Would you like a chance to try?"

"Yes." He wanted to try, more afraid of losing Marian than of what revulsion her contact might stir from his memories. He would rather those memories be brought back by her than let them consume him in his solitude.

Malcolm let out a hum of thought, followed by a loud tapping noise that Fenris registered was him tapping a pen on a table. "How about this...? I'm too busy to come pick Marian up myself, but I'll be back in town in about a week. Take that week to spend some time together, get to know each other, and when I'm in town, I'll drop in. If things go well, Marian can stay with you. If you're not up for it and don't think you will be, I'll take Marian home and that'll be the end of it. We'll forget it ever happened."

Marian blanched, digging her fingers into her palms with such force the skin broke, thin trails of blood curling around her fingernails. "Dad, you don't mean you're-"

"Marian," Malcolm cut his daughter off, his voice equal parts reprimanding and smoothing, "Trust me. Better yet, trust him. Trust yourself. It's only a week. So, Fenris," his tone returned to its jovial, flippant manner, "sound good to you?"

"I think so," Fenris replied, shifting again.

"And you, Ms. Vallen?"

Aveline's expression was neutral. "If Fenris agrees with the arrangement, then I have no objections."

Another chuckle. "Good, good. Then I'll be leaving my daughter in your capable hands. Marian, anything you want me to pass on?"

"Say hello to Beth and Carver for me," she answered, an affectionate smile on her face, "and tell Mother that I already miss her fussing."

"I'll do that," Malcolm managed through his laughter. "Oh, and Fenris? If anything should happen to my daughter, I'll do my utmost to make you regret it, so keep her safe and don't let anyone kiss her, alright? Take care, kids." With a click, the call ended, leaving a heavy silence that hung in the air.

* * *

Malcolm Hawke, as it turned out, wasn't one to throw his daughter to the wolves, so to speak. Despite the unorthodox method of transport, he had sent Marian out with a bag of essentials: a few sets of undergarments (one of which she had put on earlier that morning), a cell phone with his number, and a secure bank card connected to a generously-full account. There was also a piece of paper, which Marian handed to him. He read it and scowled. _Pick her out some clothes you like_. In spite of his misgivings, Aveline agreed that getting Marian some clothes that suited her would be worth doing, and so found himself following along after them, listening as they chatted idly about nothing.

Marian's taste in clothes was practical, picking out a pair of jeans, a pair of sweatpants, two t-shirts, and a pair of sturdy running shoes, before Aveline suggested she get something comfortable to sleep in. The two women dispersed to look around, leaving Fenris to pointedly _not_ stare at any of the displays. A minute later, Marian lightly tapped him on the shoulder. "What do you think?"

She was holding a slip of red lace, barely reaching halfway down her thighs, two thin strips of red ribbon as shoulder straps. It was less a piece of clothing and more like an overly short tube of fabric, but she held it up to herself appraisingly, looking at him for his opinion. It was a beautiful, delicate thing, and Fenris could already imagine her wearing it, showing off the pale skin of her legs and shoulders, surrendering them to his touch. Instead, he turned his head, trying to feign disinterest. "They're your clothes; you pick them."

Marian huffed. "I figured I'd see if you like it, but if I'm so much to your distaste, I won't ask." Biting her lip, she turned to stalk back to the rack she had gotten the garment from.

"Why red?"

She stopped, glancing back at him. "It's my favorite colour. Why do you ask?"

He could feet the heat rising to his cheeks. "It suits you."

"Thank you," she muttered back, the bright blush across her cheeks bringing out the freckles along her nose, "I guess... I guess I'll get it. Just in case." The joy in her tone, quiet as it was, was enough to make Fenris' heart throb with relief. The last thing he wanted for her to think he thought her distasteful. Especially when the opposite was true.

Aveline had parted with them once the browsing was done, offering to order them a pizza for their return, with Fenris' assurance that he would pay her back afterwards. Marian paid for her clothes, purposefully averting her gaze from Fenris when the slip was scanned and bagged, and then they began their walk home. It was a quiet walk, filled with the ambient sounds of vehicles and humming lights that flickered on before the sun had even begun to set. Marian only spoke up when they passed a supermarket, begging Fenris to accompany her with her eyes. When he relented, she nearly dragged him in with her, piling questions on him about what foods he liked and which he hated. As he responded, she made notes on her phone with quick, precise taps before vaulting off into the aisles, a woman with purpose, grabbing each item without a second of hesitation. She took a few moments longer with the produce, rifling gently through the piles of fruit, tapping or examining each piece with a look of such concentration that he was almost afraid to interrupt her. Instead, he watched her, watched the light squeeze she gave each of the apples she picked up, each one as red as her lips, before she passed judgement, placing it either in a clear plastic bag or back into the pile. She paid for all of it, taking the most care with the apples, handling them like crystal, smiling radiantly at Fenris when he offered to help her carry back her haul.

As promised, a large pizza box waited on the table for them when they returned, and Fenris left Marian to her reorganizing of his fridge while he went to pay Aveline. When he returned, Marian had seated herself on the couch, a plate of pizza balanced delicately between her chest and her knees, scrolling through something on her phone. Noticing him, she wiggled her phone at him, her nose wrinkled as she fought with the stringy cheese. "Checking my list. I'm pretty neat, but sometimes I get so wrapped up in stuff that I forget things. Cluttered mind and all," she added with a chuckle, looking a bit melancholy. She dropped her gaze back to her phone, wrinkling her nose with another bite of pizza.

He took a slice himself and sat down at the table, forgoing the plate she had set out for him. She wrinkled her nose again, scowling enough that Fenris couldn't stop himself from chuckling. "Not to your taste?"

She grimaced and sighed. "I know it probably sounds weird, coming from me, but it tastes so... _processed_. I'm used to cooking my own food."

"Like this morning?" For such simple ingredients, it had tasted delicious. He wasn't used to eating anything that wasn't packaged or processed across the country and back.

"Yup, just like that. I can make something that simple with my eyes closed." She grinned, seeming to glow with pride. "Leave the meals to me! I'll make something so good, it'll knock your literal socks off!"

Her enthusiasm was contagious, and Fenris found himself smiling at her boast. "Literally?"

"Okay, maybe not literally, but you'll love it. I know you will. _And_ it's a surprise, so don't even think of asking!" she tacked on hurriedly, grimacing her way through another slice of pizza.

"I won't have time to ask: I have work tomorrow, so you'll have plenty of time to surprise me."

Marian glanced up from her phone, her gaze curious, before dropping back down. "I'll make you a lunch before you go."

"There's no need-"

" _There is_ ," she insisted, cutting him off, her eyes flicking to his, burning with stubborn determination. "I'm not going to hang around here like some kind of freeloader. I'm pulling my weight. So, I'll be cooking meals and cleaning up from here on out." She hesitated, casting her eyes downward. He could see sorrow welling up there, a palpable ache that grabbed at him tightly enough to halt his breathing. "At least, for this week..."

The reminder of the deadline hung between them like a shroud, impenetrable silence that filled the air. Feeling his appetite gone, Fenris pushed to his feet. "Sleep on the bed, Marian. I'll sleep on the couch."

"Nope."

Her answer pulled him up short. "Why?" It began to aggravate him, the way she outright refused him.

"Because. I'm your guest, and you have work tomorrow, so you get the bed." She put her plate on the table and shifted on the couch, pulling the folded blanket out from under her. "That's a good enough reason."

"It's because you're a guest that you should sleep in the bed." He sighed, trying to suppress a groan, hand to his forehead. "We're not arguing over this. You're sleeping on the bed. End of story."

"Nope," was her curt reply, pulling the blanket over herself where she sat, turning herself into a fuzzy, lumpy rock, putting any further conversation to an end. Afraid to risk a headache and too exhausted to drink, Fenris got ready for bed, taking one last glance in Marian's direction before puling the covers over his head, settling down for an uneasy sleep.

He woke silently sometime later, his ears twitching at a sound. It was quiet and sad, hesitant and extremely beautiful, and so familiar. Peeking his head out from under the sheets, he saw Marian, still seated on the couch, legs hugged to her chest. Her cheeks were marked with tears, glittering in the gentle moonlight, but her voice was clear. Fenris distantly recognized the song, something old he had heard somewhere, but Marian's voice made it sound new, filled with emotion as it was. She remained unaware of his gaze, so he settled down, letting her voice sooth him back to sleep.

" _It might not be the right time_

_I might not be the right one_

_But there's something about us I want to say_

_Cause there's something between us anyway..._ "


End file.
